


the sun rose in your eyes

by elisela



Series: the trees of vermont [3]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dating, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, Lots of UST, M/M, and then actual sex, but only at the end, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: Buck’s feet are still on the stairs when Eddie snaps out of the haze that had settled over his thoughts and echoedhot single dadover and over again in his brain, closes his laptop and follows downstairs. Buck’s crouched in front of Chris, explaining that he can pick him up something at Bobby’s, and Eddie can see on Chris’ face that he’s gearing up for an argument. “Actually,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity to rest his hand on Buck’s shoulder—to let him know he’s there, he tells himself—“lunch together sounds good—uh, all of us, if that’s okay. I could—I’d like to buy you lunch.”Smooth.Real smooth.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: the trees of vermont [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790356
Comments: 78
Kudos: 246





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinningincircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/gifts).



> Lauren gave me the prompt "wanna dance?" and somehow it turned into 28k of these two idiots falling in love with each other. I love her as always.
> 
> This picks up halfway through [beauty in the small things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756628) and ends during the final scene.

Evan Buckley is a dream. 

A dream that Eddie’s had for the last two nights, waking up achingly hard, rolling his hips against his mattress to the image of Buck’s 6’3, gloriously muscular, sweat soaked body covering Eddie’s, damp and solid and insistent. 

Except now, that body is leaning against Eddie’s bedroom doorway with a vaguely uncomfortable look, Christopher right in front of him, and Eddie hopes like hell that the bunched up comforter in front of him and thin sheet still over his lower body was enough to hide what he had been doing when he woke up from that dream.

He’s pretty sure Buck knows, by the way his gaze flits around the room, looking at the crown molding, hardwood floors—everywhere but Eddie. “Sorry for just busting in, Chris wanted to surprise you,” he says. “I, uh, brought some breakfast burritos for you guys. We’ll get out of your way. Come on, Chris.”

Eddie, clearly a sucker for punishment, watches as Buck shuffles Chris in front of him, one hand on the door pulling it closed—and then makes eye contact with him for just a second; Buck’s gaze drops down to where Eddie’s hand is still hidden beneath the sheet and his tongue comes out and flicks against his lower lip, and Eddie—

Fuck. 

He’s not proud of it, but he hides for a few hours after that. Chris does just fine on his own usually, and has spent the last two days wandering after Buck like a shadow, staying a careful distance away until Buck calls him forward—to help pick something up, to hold something for him, to teach him the difference between screwdrivers. Eddie makes a brief appearance in the kitchen to eat breakfast, leaning against the island while Buck and Chris sit at the table and talk about their plan; Buck treats Chris as an equal, explaining what needs to be done and asking Chris’ opinion. 

Chris nods along with him, and agrees with everything Buck says. 

Eddie escapes to his office to nurse his shame as soon as he’s done eating. He spends his time writing—a little about how he clearly needs to get laid, typing out all his frustrations and then deleting them immediately, because with his luck he’d manage to accidentally send it to his sisters—but mostly how Buck makes him feel about _himself_ , because Buck—

Buck _looks_. His eyes will sweep over Eddie’s body, dart to his mouth when they’re talking to each other. He’d squeezed Eddie’s bicep when he’d said goodbye the first day, and Eddie had watched, almost dazed, as Buck licked his bottom lip and bit down. He touches Eddie; brushes their shoulders together as they stand in the yard, looking up at the roof, nudges Eddie with his hip when he points to Chris and tells him about how Chris had written labels for all his tools, so he could get whatever Buck needed. 

Labels that Buck had then promptly stuck on what was probably a very expensive toolset. 

So Eddie knows it’s not one sided, this attraction he feels; he just doesn’t know what to do about it. Is it harassment to ask someone who’s working in your house on a date? He doesn’t think so, but if Buck turns him down, it would be pretty awkward, so he … doesn’t. Not yet. But he’s addicted to this feeling already, the way Buck makes him feel desired with just one look, just one touch.

There are footsteps on the stairs and Eddie turns around just as Buck knocks on the open office door, and for a moment they just stare at each other, and Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe in those few seconds. “Hey,” Buck says, giving him a soft smile. 

And there’s the thing Eddie doesn’t understand—Buck doesn’t just look at him like he wants to fuck him, he looks at him like _this_ , heavy with affection, and Eddie can’t figure out why. “Hey,” he returns. “Need help?”

“Pretty soon, with the drywall up at the top,” Buck says, “but I was just about to go grab some lunch at Bobby’s. I didn’t want to leave Chris by himself down there, although you should know he’s begging me to take him. I tried telling him he shouldn’t be inviting himself along with strangers without your permission but he just said I was his business partner.” He shrugs, looking amused. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

“You know you’re not obligated to hang out with him,” Eddie says slowly. “You’re great with him, and I appreciate that more than you know, but don’t feel like you have to—be with him all the time. I can get him to leave you alone.”

There’s a tiny flicker of—something—that passes in Buck’s face, fast enough that Eddie only registers the slight downturn of his lips before the smile becomes fixed on his face and he shrugs again. “No problem,” he says easily, and Eddie gets the distinct impression that he’s said the wrong thing. “Want me to pick you up anything?”

“I’m not paying you enough if this is the kind of service you regularly offer,” Eddie says—flirts? Is he flirting right now? He hasn’t done it in so long he thinks he’s forgotten how. 

“Only to hot single dads,” Buck says, and he winks before pulling out his phone; a moment later, Eddie’s phone vibrates in his pocket. “Text me what you want.”

Buck’s feet are still on the stairs when Eddie snaps out of the haze that had settled over his thoughts and echoed _hot single dad_ over and over again in his brain, closes his laptop and follows downstairs. Buck’s crouched in front of Chris, explaining that he can pick him up something at Bobby’s, and Eddie can see on Chris’ face that he’s gearing up for an argument. “Actually,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity to rest his hand on Buck’s shoulder—to let him know he’s there, he tells himself—“lunch together sounds good—uh, all of us, if that’s okay. I could—I’d like to buy you lunch.”

Smooth.

Real smooth. 

But Buck just turns his face up and smiles at him, and the movement makes Eddie’s palm slip, his fingers brushing up against Buck’s throat and Eddie has a sudden vision of Buck on his knees in a different way, hands on Eddie’s thighs and looking up at him through those long lashes—

“We can share pie,” Chris says, and Eddie feels heat rush to his face. Jesus, his kid is in the room, he really needs to get a grip. 

“I love Bobby’s pie,” Buck says earnestly, pushing off the ground but staying so close that Eddie can feel the back of their hands brushing together. “My car doesn’t have anywhere for you to sit in the back, buddy, should we see if your dad can drive us?”

“We can walk,” Chris says, before Eddie has much time to fall in love with Buck over the way he talks to Chris directly each time instead of running everything through Eddie like so many people do. “Dad gives me a piggyback ride sometimes, but I’ll let you do it if you want to.”

And with anyone else, Eddie might be embarrassed by how forward—and frankly shameless—his son is, might worry how they’d react, but something about how Buck reacted earlier stops him from intervening even though he probably should. 

“It would be my honor,” Buck says with a silly bow, and Chris tilts his head back and laughs. 

Over lunch, Eddie watches. He watches the way Buck’s eyes light up when Chris draws pictures of wrenches and screwdrivers on the sketch pad that May sets down for him after she leads them to a table, watches how he throws an easy arm over the back of the booth and doesn’t flinch when Chris scoots as close as he can get without being on his lap. 

Eddie thinks idly that his mom would have a fit if she could see it, pulls out his phone, and plays with it until Chris asks him to take a picture—which is exactly what Eddie knew he would do.

He sends it to his sisters and immediately regrets it when Sophia responds with a series of emojis that Eddie is pretty sure a married woman shouldn’t be sending about someone she knows her brother is interested in. 

Chris keeps up his favorite game, which is asking Buck every question he can come up with, so Eddie learns he has a sister he hasn’t talked to in a few years, a little about the places he’s lived, and that he’s been in Vermont for the last year and he’s finishing his engineering degree at the university but likes working on houses so much he’s not sure if he’s going to actually use the engineering degree once he gets it. He asks the same questions right back, and Chris giggles when he tells him he has no brothers or sisters but doesn’t want any because his Aunt Ana says babies are too much work, and he’s not interested in working, because he’s only seven years old. 

(“But I’ll be eight soon,” he adds, and then looks up at Buck and asks, “do you want to come to my birthday party? It’s in November.”)

When they walk back home after, Buck lifts Chris easily onto his back, and Eddie feels ridiculous by the small amount of envy he feels at the sight.

He thinks he might hear Sophia’s high-pitched laughter all the way from Texas even if he hangs the phone up.

“Eddie,” she says finally, “are you really telling me that this man caught you jacking off, called you a hot single dad after that, and you _still_ don’t know if he’d go out with you? What’s he supposed to do, buy you a ring? Do you need me to arrange a marriage? Give me his number.”

“I was not—” he looks around and lowers his voice, even though Chris is asleep in his newly patched up room downstairs and he’s very much alone, “ _jacking off_ , Jesus Christ, I was—”

“Yeah yeah, Eddie, you were in bed, but both you and I know you wouldn’t have been so embarrassed about him walking in if you weren’t in the middle of something.”

He’s going to die. He hopes he updated his will after he was discharged from the Army, because he’s going to have a heart attack and die. “Normal sisters don’t talk about their brother’s sex life,” he says, pulling a pillow over his head. Maybe he can suffocate himself, that might be less painful.

Sophia snorts. “You fuck him already? Because I hate to tell you, you and your hand are not—”

He hangs up on her, but the phone vibrates almost immediately after.

**Sophia:** Ask him out.   
**Sophia:** If you’re too chicken, have Chris ask him to stay late for dinner and a movie. No one can turn that kid down.


	2. Week Two

Just when Buck has run out of excuses to delay finishing up at Eddie’s house, Chris hands him another one as soon as he opens the door.

“The sink is leaking,” he tells Buck solemnly. “Dad swore at it. _Again_. I told him you need a wrench to fix it and he said ‘I _know_ Christopher, but it isn’t that easy,’ but I think it is that easy and he just doesn’t know how.”

Buck ruffles his hair as he steps inside. “Is he working on it now?” At Chris’ nod, he changes direction and heads into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching the way Eddie’s shirt rides up and exposes the golden skin of his abdomen as he lays on the ground and looks up at the plumbing, admiring the muscles that appear when he shifts, and fuck if there’s nothing he wants to do more than straddle Eddie’s thick thighs and have Eddie watch as he—

He’s got to stop objectifying him before he figures out how to ask him on a date.

Eddie’s hard to read. Buck knows that he’s attractive, he knows Eddie is attracted to him, can see it in the way he licks his lips and his breath comes faster when Buck gets too close, when he finds excuses to brush past him, or touch him, and definitely saw it the morning that he’d caught Eddie in bed by the way he’d choked back a moan and his shoulders had jerked slightly when Buck had met his eyes—but he told himself he was done with one night stands, and he meant it. Eddie might be down for friends with benefits, and he had thought about whether or not he’d be able to manage that before he’d shut down that line of thought and reread _Tango Uniform_ , staying up until three in the morning to remind himself of all the reasons it would be a terrible idea if he offered.

Namely, it’s just asking to get his heartbroken.

So—Eddie would sleep with him, but he’s not entirely sure if Eddie would want to _date_ him. And God, does Buck want to date him. He’s pretty sure he wants to be around Eddie for the rest of his life, to hear the gentle way he teases his son, to make Eddie smile just to see the way his eyes crinkle up, to be the only one that makes him blush when he checks him out. He wants to know what Eddie’s like when he’s relaxed, the way he sounds when he’s sleeping, wants to know how his hands would look like on Buck’s body and if he’d like it if Buck whispered filthy things in his ear while he fucked him, like Buck imagines when he’s getting himself off in the shower in the mornings. 

Buck really, _really_ needs to get his overactive imagination under control before he does something he regrets.

“Hey Buck,” Eddie calls, lifting his head a little and grimacing. “Did Chris send you in here? I told him I could do this.”

“Yep,” Buck says, grinning. “He thought you might like a second opinion.”

“Traitor,” Eddie grumbles. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to have you take a look. I replaced the gasket and I thought that would fix it, but when I checked this morning there was water underneath again.”

Buck reaches down and helps him up, sliding a hand onto Eddie’s hip to steady him when he pulls too hard—maybe on accident, maybe not—and Eddie stumbles into his chest. Eddie’s skin if soft and warm under his palm and it would be so, so easy to lean in and kiss him, to tilt his head and _really_ kiss him, to press Eddie back against the sink and slide their hips together—

He lets go.

“I’m decent at some of this plumbing stuff,” he says, dropping down and wiggling under the sink; if he lets his shirt ride up to show of the muscles he’s _very_ proud of, that’s just for him to know, “but you may need—can you hand me the flashlight in my bag?” He sticks his hand out for it and shines the light up on the pipes. “Eds, how fucking old is this plumbing? You’ve got a pinhole leak in the u-bend, I’m pretty sure the pipe is eroding. Do you see the black tape in my bag?”

Eddie sighs, and Buck frowns at the frustration evident in his voice. “It’s just everything with this house, man. Can you fix it?”

The tape lands on his stomach, and he unwinds a bit, wrapping it around the bend several times. “I can go grab another section from the hardware store, but you’ll probably want to get someone out here to check everything. If one of the pipes is eroding, there’s a chance you have more. Better to figure it out now.”

Eddie is shirtless.

Eddie is shirtless, dripping wet, with his short hair plastered to his forehead while he laughs and Buck—

Wow. 

The universe is not being fair to him, he decides, when Chris waves him over to the side of the house where he is laying on the grass, letting a sprinkler pass over him.

“Hey buddy,” Buck says, staying mostly out of the way of the water; the very end of the sprinkler catches him, but it’s already hot at 10am and he doesn’t mind. “What’s all this?”

“Dad’s the champion!” Chris says, pushing himself up on his elbows and squinting. “We wrestled and he beat me.”

“Unbelievable,” Buck says, winking at Eddie. “Did he make you wrestle without your glasses? I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.”

Chris’ mouth falls open. “Yeah!” he says. “Dad, that’s cheating!”

Eddie reaches over and shoves him gently, and Buck pretends to stumble and drops hard onto the grass. “I’ve been attacked!” he yelps, grinning when Chris laughs. “Chris, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna defend me?”

“Oh, you need an eight year old to fight your battles?” Eddie teases, advancing on him. “Can’t fight me yourself?”

This is—a really bad idea. Buck knows that. Just _thinking_ about Eddie has been overwhelming enough at times, so the best thing for him to do would be to deflect, to appeal to Chris again, to laugh and walk away and finish what Chim sent him here to do instead of stretching a three day job out to six, to do literally _anything_ other than—

“You think you can take me?”

That.

He barely has time to register that Eddie’s pulling him up before his arms are full of a very wet and extremely solid body, all six feet of Eddie pressed against him, dropping him right back to the ground and landing on top of him within seconds and Jesus fuck, the entire world narrows down to the feel of Eddie on top of him. He should lay there, he should just let Eddie pin him, stay still until he loses interest, handle it until he can go back home and deal with this desire that’s crashing through him.

If Eddie didn’t know Buck was attracted to him before, he certainly does now, because Buck is very aware of how hard he is, and there’s a slight hitch in Eddie’s hips as he pins him that tells him that Eddie knows, too, that he’s _enjoying_ it.

He arches back, throwing his arms around Eddie’s waist and bucking his hips up, but even soaking wet Eddie’s got the upper hand, strong forearms pinning Buck’s shoulders to the ground and he’s so close that Buck can feel his breath on his lips. Eddie’s waiting for him to try again but he’s never getting out of the hold like that, so he decides in an instant to play dirty, pulling Eddie closer to him and twisting, getting them both on their sides as Eddie lets out a yell of surprise before Buck scrambles on top and tries to pin him. But Eddie’s fast, and Buck’s not sure how long they spend grappling with each other, rolling around in the grass; he just catalogues the slide of Eddie’s arms around his body, the way Eddie’s laughter stutters when Buck—maybe intentionally—slides a thigh between his legs, and—

“I’m hungry,” Chris calls, and Eddie startles so violently underneath him that he nearly knocks their heads together.

He might have been able to pull himself together, if Eddie hadn’t rolled to the side right when Buck started to push himself up, but he does, and his hand slides right up Buck’s inner thigh and over his dick, and Buck can’t fucking breath. 

“I’m gonna—” is all he manages to get out before he flees, going into the house through the kitchen door and heading straight to the bathroom on the main floor, and despite the chant of _don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it_ in his head, all his good sense goes out the window the second he get the door shut and leans back on it, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down to mid-thigh. He thinks about Eddie on top of him as he wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking—not slow and soft like he does in the morning when he’s thinking about fucking him, but firm, quick strokes that are meant to get him off as quickly as possible, Eddie’s hips thrusting against his, panting harshly in his ear. He grips his thigh with his other hand, imagines Eddie’s mouth on his neck and teeth in his skin, bites his tongue against the noises he’s making and comes to the feel of Eddie’s hand sliding over him again and again and again, spilling over his fist with Eddie’s name on his lips.

He avoids Eddie the rest of the morning, too embarrassed to look at him. 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Buck drops the wrench on his face.

Eddie’s hands are on him the next moment, pulling him out from under the sink and pressing against his forehead. “Jesus, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, and Buck blinks at the sudden closeness of him. “You got a cut—stay right here, okay? I’m gonna go get the first aid kit.”

“It’s fine,” Buck says, “it’s probably just small—”

“Head wounds can bleed like you wouldn’t believe,” Eddie says, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

If today could get any more humiliating, he doesn’t want to see it.

Eddie’s back a minute later, carrying an impressively large first aid kit and kneeling down beside him, his fingers gentle as he presses gauze against Buck’s forehead, and the shame that’s been growing since he left the bathroom that morning, red faced, is too much to handle when Eddie’s this attentive. There’s no way he’s _telling_ Eddie what he did, but he’d crossed the line far before that, and he thinks he probably needs to own up to it.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he says, quietly. “Uh, I shouldn’t have let it get that far in front of Chris, I’m—”

“Chris just thought we were wrestling,” Eddie says, and Buck feels fingertips at his jaw before his head is tilted up and he’s looking Eddie in the eye. “Is that the only reason you’re sorry?” He doesn’t sound upset, but anxious, a little. “Because I—”

“I’ll be sorry about how I lost my job if anyone tells Chim about it,” he says, trying to lighten the air between them, and Eddie laughs. “If the offer for dinner still stands—” he breaks off and jerks his head away with a sharp intake of breath, but Eddie slides a hand around the back of his head and holds him still. “You sure you know what you’re doing? That really hurts. I read that if you use—”

“The Army didn’t completely fail to teach their medics how to disinfect a cut,” Eddie says, sounding amused. 

“You’re an Army medic?” _How do you afford this house_ , he wants to add, but wisely keeps his mouth shut, and then—holy shit, an Army medic.

Just like S.A. Edmund. 

Maybe the universe _is_ being fair to him, dropping a smoking hot Army medic into his lap.

“Was,” Eddie says. “I write for a couple of websites now, do some contract work for the VA. But I remember how to dress a wound,” he says, smoothing some waterproof tape over the gauze, “so you should be just fine.”

“Buck,” Chris says quietly from his bed as Buck is packing his tools up, “Dad says you’re staying for dinner and we get to watch a movie together because tomorrow is my first day of school.”

His hands still on the nail gun, cord wrapped halfway around it. “Is that okay with you, Chris? I don’t have to if you’d rather spend time with your dad, I know I’ve been around a lot.”

Chris stares at him, brow furrowed. “Do you know how to cook?”

The sudden change of topic makes him raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m okay at it, Bobby’s been teaching me how to make some stuff and I like to look at recipes, but it’s okay, your dad said he’d cook so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Chris sits up and reaches out, his little fingers coming to rest around Buck’s wrist. “No,” he says, “can you cook instead? Last night Dad made sloppy joes and they were from a _can_.”

Buck chuckles. “Well, I don’t know how to make the sauce for that either, buddy, so mine would be from a can, too.”

“The _whole thing_ ,” Chris says, eyes wide, his fingers tightening on Buck’s wrist. “He opened the can and just put it on bread!”

Well—that does sound … not great. “Maybe he just wasn’t sure now to make it,” Buck hedges, stowing the last bit of sandpaper in his bag and sitting back on his heels to look at Chris. 

“No, grandma says he shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen at all,” Chris tells him, clearly not afraid to spill all of Eddie’s secrets. Buck wonders how many more he could find out with a few well-placed comments.

“Your grandma should have taught him to cook, then,” Buck says, raising an eyebrow. “My mom didn’t teach me how to cook, either, but my sister tried, and now Bobby helps me. Maybe your dad just needs a little bit of help.”

“Or,” Chris says, looking at him hopefully, “ _you_ could cook for us.”

Okay, so Eddie isn’t the greatest cook, Buck thinks, sawing a little harder through his chicken with the butter knife Eddie had apologetically given him, but the guy is so hot that he was bound to have a flaw, Buck reasons. Chris had said he wasn’t to be trusted with a hammer—well, had parroted what he’d heard his grandmother say, at least—but Eddie hadn’t done too badly himself replacing the gasket in the kitchen sink or helping Buck put up drywall, so Buck had thought that maybe, the cooking thing was an exaggeration.

It was not.

Chris, for all his whispered pleas to Buck earlier about just seeing if Eddie would order a pizza, or going to Bobby’s again, and his loud comment that _maybe_ what he felt like tonight was peanut butter and jelly, is dutifully eating what Eddie had set down in front of him, which is one very dry piece of chicken—well seasoned, Buck will give him that—a baked potato, and some limp broccoli.

Across the table, Eddie’s cheeks are stained pink, and Buck thinks he might love him.

Eddie doesn’t kiss him goodbye. 

Buck had hoped he might—thought he might, when Eddie had hovered in his driveway and Buck had leaned against the hood of his car for an extra fifteen minutes, finishing their conversation about what had brought them both to Vermont and how different it was from where Eddie had grown up, but then the silence had stretched out until it became awkward, and Buck had said goodbye and it was nice to meet him and Chris, and—

—left. 

Because he’s done, Chris’ room is finished, the roof (at least the part he’d patched up) looks great, and although Buck had thought for a good several minutes about “accidentally” leaving something behind so that he would have an excuse to go back, he hadn’t.

He should have asked Eddie out, and he’d tried, twice that night, but both times he’d been stopped by that voice in his head that said _all someone like him would want someone like you for is sex_. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not, but Buck knows damn well that he could have gotten into Eddie’s bed tonight if he had tried, and he’s more than a little proud of himself for leaving without giving in. 

The drive home feels longer than normal, maybe because it’s getting dark, maybe because every mile he puts between himself and Eddie’s house makes him just want to turn around and throw his morals out the window, but he finally gets home, pulls off most of his clothes, and collapses into bed. Maybe he’ll call Hen and ask her what he should do, she’s always made him feel better.

It’s times like these that he _really_ wishes he knew how to get in touch with Maddie.

Eddie calls before he has a chance to bring up Hen’s number, and Buck connects way too quickly. “Hey,” he says, rolling onto his back and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Being nearly naked in bed and talking to Eddie on the phone just feels like a temptation he shouldn’t be giving himself. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to—” there’s a pause and Buck holds his breath, hoping, “—uh, I think you left a screwdriver over here,” Eddie says.

Buck _almost_ calls him out, and he’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t except that he wants to keep Eddie on the phone and he’s pretty sure if he does, Eddie will end the conversation quickly. “I can swing by tomorrow and grab it,” he says, “after my afternoon job, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Eddie says, and he sounds happier, like he’s smiling. “You can—you should stay for dinner again. Chris is going to want to tell you about his first day of school, he’s pretty excited about it. I promised him we could go out or order pizza if he wanted, so you won’t have to suffer through my cooking.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Buck says, cringing.

“It’s nice of you to lie,” Eddie says, laughing a little, “but I’m well aware that I could use some improvement.”

“Well, it was nice of you to cook for me,” Buck says. “Hey, did I tell you about the time my roommate in Rio made dinner for us and told us she’d made the chicken medium-rare?”


	3. Week Three

“Can Buck come over?”

“Buck has to work tonight,” Eddie says, straightening Chris’ sleeve from where it’s curled under. “But I wanted to ask you something,” he says, crouching down. In front of his son’s school is probably not the place to do this, but he’d put it off long enough and—

“Is it about getting a dog? I want a dog,” Chris says, looking at him hopefully. “Savannah’s mom got her a dog and she says he’s so cute. Do you think he knows he’s a dog?”

Eddie blinks. “Uh,” he says, “it’s definitely not about a dog. It’s about Buck.”

“Can he come over?”

This—is probably a good thing, he thinks. Or maybe not, because Chris is pretty attached to Buck already and there are still a thousand ways Eddie can mess this up. “No,” he says again. “Do you know what dating is, buddy? You know how Auntie Ana has a boyfriend? She’s dating him.”

“I don’t like him,” Chris says immediately. “He said he was moving away and auntie cried.”

The bell rings and Eddie holds his hand out. “Okay, but—I was thinking about dating Buck,” he says, keeping his eyes on Chris’ face, waiting for his reaction. “What do you think?”

Chris makes a face. “Are you going to kiss him?”

“Probably,” Eddie says.

“That’s gross,” Chris says. It’s the same thing he said about Adriana and Jason though, so Eddie doesn’t think he means any harm by it. “Did you know kissing is like spitting in someone’s mouth? That’s what Harry says.”

“So you’re okay with it,” Eddie says, standing up and putting a hand on Chris’ back, gently moving him towards the entrance. 

“I don’t think you should kiss him,” Chris says seriously, “but I guess if it makes you happy, you can.”

His tie looks wrong. 

_He_ looks wrong, what’s he doing wearing a god damn tie? He feels unsettled, like someone else has taken over, someone who is much better at this dating thing, someone who would have asked for a date the second he saw Buck standing in his doorway and not two and a half weeks later after inventing excuses for Buck to come over for several days in a row before Buck took pity on him and offered to check the rest of the house out for necessary repairs and—

Well, he’s not going to think about the papers Buck had handed him after spending hours going through every room of Eddie’s house, nearly as thick as the book he had written. 

He takes the tie off, puts it back on, and FaceTimes Sophia.

“You clean up nice, little brother,” she says, and he can’t help but make a face at her. “What’s all this?”

“I asked Buck out,” he says, and winces when she shrieks. “Soph, he’s gonna be here in ten minutes, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Calm down,” she says, and he sees the shift into mom mode on her face, and a second later she’s propping the phone up and grabbing her laptop. “What’s the restaurant name? You’re doing dinner, right?” He gives her the restaurant name and fusses with his hair, and then the tie again before she makes a noise and he looks back at the screen. “Lose the tie,” she says, “and—god you better thank me silently and not actually tell me if you get laid, but pop that top button open.”

“I’m ignoring you,” he says. “I gotta go.”

“Eddie,” she says, and again, louder when it’s clear he’s not going to respond, “Edmundo! Fix your hair, you look like you have a combover for God’s sake.”

He ends the call, messes with his hair some more, and leaves the tie on the bed. 

Halfway down the stairs, he pops the top button open. 

If Evan Buckley standing on his front porch with his ripped shorts and flannel shirt made Eddie trip over his own tongue, Evan Buckley standing on his front porch in a white button down and light blue tie with his sleeves rolled to halfway up his forearms leaves him speechless. 

As if _that_ isn’t enough, the uncharacteristically shy smile Buck gives when he holds out a bouquet of flowers is enough to make Eddie—well, melt. He’s pretty sure that’s what his heart is doing, what the slow, warm feeling in his chest is. 

Buck brought him flowers. 

There was a small part of Eddie that had wondered if all Buck wanted was sex, if he’d been coming over the last several nights in hopes that something would happen once Chris went to bed, but he’d only gone so far as to sit right next to Eddie when he came back from getting a drink of water and put a hand on Eddie’s thigh. He hadn’t moved it at all, just rested it there, and when Eddie worked up the nerve to look at him, Buck was blushing. 

So he’d asked him out to dinner, and Buck had blinked at him, a slow smile stretching across his face as he said yes, and he was so goddamn beautiful that Eddie almost leaned in and kissed him right then. 

But he hadn’t; he’d just smiled back and put his hand on top of Buck’s, and Buck had turned his palm face up and laced his fingers through Eddie’s, eyes already back on the movie they were watching. And Eddie had thought, _maybe now, maybe we should go upstairs, this can’t be all he wants_ , but he hadn’t moved, and Buck didn’t move, not until the credits were rolling and he was up and walking towards the door, yawning and talking about how he had class in the morning, still holding onto Eddie’s hand.

Buck brought him flowers, and Eddie might not have been on a date in the last … several … years, but he’s mostly certain that no one is bringing flowers to someone they just want to fuck. He’s pretty sure that after the wrestling incident it’s clear that Eddie is interested in that, which means that maybe this date means as much to Buck as it does to Eddie.

No one’s ever bought him flowers before. He doesn’t think that’s unusual, given it’s usually a show of affection and those have been lacking in his life from anyone outside of his sisters and his son, but no one has really given Eddie _anything_ that shows they’re thinking about him. Eddie’s always felt like an afterthought, someone who is there because they have to be and not necessarily because they’re wanted. 

But Buck brought him flowers, Buck had spent several days slowing his work down so Christopher could feel wanted and helpful, Buck had suffered through three nights of Eddie’s attempts at cooking, and Eddie is pretty much forced to conclude that Buck definitely did not just agree to a date so they could have an empty house.

“You look really good,” he says, gaze lingering on the way Buck’s long fingers are wrapped around the flower stems. “Uh—hi. Sorry. You just—look good.”

Come to think of it, it might be better if Buck just wanted sex. Eddie’s pretty sure he could manage that without sounding like an idiot.

“So do you,” Buck says, and when he straightens up, he seems to lose all his uncertainty. “Really good, Eddie, this purple is nice on you. These are for you—they’re asters, did you know they’re the state flower?”

Eddie would have called them daisies, so he’s glad he didn’t open his mouth before. They look more like wildflowers than any polished bouquet he’s ever seen, a riot of purple and pink with long green stems, and he realizes suddenly that he doesn't think he owns a single vase. “I didn’t,” he says, wondering if he has a tall drinking glass, a mason jar— _anything_ —to put them in. “This is really thoughtful,” he says, looking up and meeting Buck’s gaze, lingering at his lips. His hand closes around Buck’s when he reaches for the bouquet, and he thinks about pulling him close, letting the flowers get crushed in between them as they press up against each other, letting them fall to the floor so he can get his hands all over Buck’s body. 

He steps back with a smile. “I’ll find something to put these in,” he says. “You wanna come in for a minute?”

Buck steps in, looking around hopefully. “Where’s Chris?”

Two words should not be enough to make Eddie want to marry someone, but apparently they are. “He’s over at Hen’s,” he answers, leading them into the kitchen and opening up the most likely cabinet, surveying his drinkware. “Hanging out with Denny until after dinner, and then they’re going to come have a sleepover here so Hen and Karen can have a quiet morning.” He reaches for a beer mug he’d gotten in Germany during the week he’d spent between getting discharged from the hospital and going back to Texas, fills it halfway with water, and sets the flowers in it. “Guess I’m going shopping tomorrow,” he says, grinning, “but this will work for now.”

Eddie should have thought this plan through a little more thoroughly. The restaurant isn’t the nicest in town; that’s up at the ski resort, a five star place where he’d taken Chris the night after they’d moved into the house, portions so tiny that they’d ended up in Bobby’s cafe on the way back home to share a burger and fries. Bobby had introduced himself as their neighbor, and given Chris a slice of pie on the house, winning him over instantly. The cafe had become a staple in the six months they’d been in Stowe for breakfast every Sunday morning and at dinner at least twice a week, moreso since summer started and Chris quickly grew bored of sandwiches for lunch.

What it lacks in michelin stars, though, it makes up for in intimacy. The tables are crammed together, creating a cozy atmosphere, candles flickering in the low lighting. The walls are a deep red, and Eddie feels a sudden panic creep up his spine, because this is not a first date place by any means; the quiet music, the hushed voices—this is where you go when you’re comfortable holding hands across the table and sharing food, spending hours talking and drinking wine, not when you’ve stumbled into a date based on sheer luck and good fortune.

Eddie hardly knows how to manage a conversation with Buck at his house while Buck was working, he’s not really sure how to navigate this. Is he supposed to order for Buck? How does he make it clear that he’s paying for dinner without offending him? He wouldn’t have worried about it earlier, because he had asked for the date, but Buck had brought flowers and now he’s not entirely sure what he should be doing.

He probably should have spent more time on the phone with Sophia.

Maybe he can excuse himself and text her—he might, if he thought he would ever live it down.

The noises Buck makes while he’s eating has Eddie—well. No one will ever react to Eddie’s food like this; little grunts of pleasure, tongue peeking out to lick up sauce left behind on the corner of his lip. Probably a good thing, because Eddie’s having a difficult enough time controlling himself with Buck’s ankle pressed against his under the table and the way he’d held Eddie’s hand earlier, thumb rubbing slowly against the inside of his wrist. Holding hands probably shouldn’t be the thing that makes Eddie want to press Buck up against a wall and fit their bodies together, not after the show in the backyard last week, but the slow sweep of Buck’s thumb had been driving him crazy. 

They’re lingering after their meal, one plate between them with the remains of peanut butter pie smeared across it, and Eddie’s skin stopped buzzing immediately when Buck sets his fork down and says, “Chris said you wrote a book.”

He thinks he’s going to be sick. Telling Buck—he might be able to do that, one day in the distant future. He hasn’t told anyone about it except for his sisters; he’s not even sure how Chris knows about it, which means that Eddie needs to start making sure his phone conversations are held upstairs in his bedroom rather than in the living room after he thinks Chris is asleep. But telling Buck means Buck will likely want to read it, that he’ll _know_ —

“He said it was about dancing,” Buck continues, and his leg stretches out more, sliding until they’re closer together under the table. “Did you write a romance novel, Eddie?”

He’s _teasing_ him, and Eddie blows out his relief with a laugh. “Be good and maybe I’ll let you read it one day,” he says, which isn’t exactly answering the question but isn’t exactly lying, either.

“Oh,” Buck says; he reaches across the table and picks up Eddie’s hand, cupping them together and starting that slow movement up again, “don’t worry, I plan on being _very_ good.”

He swallows, mouth dry, because that sounds—not at all how Eddie had meant it, but very, very promising.

Eddie’s not entirely sure how he ended up pressed against a tree on the 12th hole; Buck, it turned out, is terrible at mini-golf—there’s no in between with him, the ball either goes clear over to the next green or a mere three feet away no matter what. Once Eddie had gotten control of himself and stopped laughing, Buck had said it was only because he was overdressed and uncomfortable, so it only made _sense_ to reach over and loosen his tie, to let his fingers brush against Buck’s neck, open the top button of his shirt and finally, _finally_ pull him close enough to tilt his head up and kiss him.

He’s never had to reach up to kiss someone before, he had thought briefly, before Buck’s hands settled on his hips and he was kissing him back, gentle and soft, his lower lip dragging against the stubble of Eddie’s chin. It was sweet and affectionate but Eddie _wants_ , he needs more, so he had opened his mouth and then—

—then he was being pressed against rough bark, Buck’s fingers digging into his hips as he kissed him, and Eddie’s never been kissed like this before. The noises Buck had made while eating were _nothing_ compared to the way he breathed into Eddie’s mouth, desperate and needy, tongue sliding against Eddie’s like it belonged there, almost exactly like Eddie had imagined their first kiss would go all those mornings in bed.

Only—not in public.

Or with so many clothes on.

Buck pulls his head back then, and Eddie moves his hands from where they’re gripping Buck’s biceps and slides them around his waist to pull him closer, not ready for this contact to end, for his body to be on its own again, but Buck doesn’t go far, just presses his forehead against Eddie’s and breathes in. “Not what I meant to do,” he says; his voice sounds unsteady, the shake of it makes Eddie grip him tighter. “I was going to take this slow,” he says, “just kiss you goodbye and not practically attack you during our date.”

Slow, Eddie thinks, like Buck can’t feel how turned on he his, like he can’t feel how hard Buck is against his thigh, like he hasn’t been getting off every morning to the thought of Buck on his knees, Buck hovering above him in bed, Buck pressing him into a wall just like this and fucking him. Buck’s been in his head and on his lips since the day he met him, but if he wants slow, Eddie can give him that.

He reaches up and presses his fingers against Buck’s jaw, pulls his head down and kisses him again, lets his lips linger against Buck’s mouth and cheek. “I kissed you,” he says. “Couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Well,” Buck says. He sounds pleased, and Eddie kisses him again. “I’m not complaining.”

“Thought,” Eddie says when Buck’s hands slide up under his shirt and he mouths at the curve of Eddie’s shoulder, “you said slow.” 

Buck’s hands still and he pushes himself up; the living room is dim, Eddie had only turned one lamp on when they came in, but he can still see the flush on Buck’s cheeks, his words inked above Buck’s heart. They’ve been making out for hours, have gone from fully dressed to unbuttoning their shirts to Buck pulling his off entirely, and Eddie’s still having trouble processing that the change in his life Buck had talked about had come from _Eddie’s_ words, written right there on his chest.

_I found you_ , he thinks.

Of course, he hasn’t been focusing very much on the fact that his trauma has helped someone, he’s been a little distracted by Buck in his lap, or Buck underneath him, on top of him, his hands pressed against warm skin and hard muscle. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck says sincerely, and Eddie wishes he could take the words back.

“Bad joke,” he says, reaching out to pull Buck back down and kissing him. “Sorry, I—haven’t done this in awhile. I’m an idiot.”

Buck huffs laughter against his mouth, bracing himself on one arm while the other hand works back under Eddie’s shirt, hand sweeping across his abs and thumb dipping into his belly button. Eddie’s hips stutter up and he groans, but Buck just laughs again. “Slow doesn’t mean not touching you,” he says, biting gently on Eddie’s bottom lip. “Unless that’s what you want it to mean. But I should go, I have class in the morning.”

“Stay,” Eddie says without thinking, and then, “a few more minutes, just—”

“A few more,” Buck agrees, and kisses him again.


	4. Week Four

The drive to Stowe is becoming very, very familiar. Buck has classes three days a week until noon, work until five or six most nights, and then he heads straight to Eddie’s, picking up groceries on the way and cooking dinner with Chris at his side asking questions, helping, or chattering about his school day from the kitchen table.

It’s a lot of miles on his car, a lot of time spent driving when he really should be studying, but he misses Eddie when he’s not with him, so it’s worth it. It might be a little pathetic, but Buck will take anything and everything that Eddie allows him to have, and if that means he loses a little sleep, so be it. 

There’s no class today, though, so he’d woken up early to finish his Advanced Circuit Applications homework, submitted it just before the 9:00am deadline, showered, and hopped in the car to drive to Eddie’s. He listens to one of the recordings he’s made of a math lecture on the way, which is what he tells himself counts as studying, and runs through a mental list of what he has time to do before he needs to leave for Waterbury Center. He’ll only have about two hours at Eddie’s today, but it should be enough time to install the automatic shades in Chris’ room and fix the faucet that’s been leaking in the upstairs bathroom. He’d tried to get to it the night before, but Eddie had pulled him onto the couch in the office and said he wasn’t there to work.

Which is fine, if Eddie will actually let him work when he’s supposed to, but his track record over the last several days hasn’t been great.

Eddie’s truck is gone when Buck reaches the house, but the door is unlocked, so he lets himself in and gets to work in Christopher’s bright, airy room, installing blinds that Buck is proud of himself for finding. They’re remote operated and can be set up on a timer system, perfect for both Chris and Eddie to control. Buck loves this room—it’s the one he thinks he would have set up as an office if he had bought the place. Large windows line three walls, an addition to the house that must have originally been a sunroom, and Chris had explained he wanted it as a bedroom because it felt like camping, which, he added, he had never done.

Buck had nearly promised to take him until he realized how creepy that would be coming from a man Chris had known for all of two days.

He figures Eddie will be back soon, knows he can lose track of time at Bobby’s after he drops Chris off at school—he thinks it’s good, given what Bobby had told him back when he accepted the job about how closed off Eddie had been during the few months he’d lived next door—but time stretches on and Eddie doesn’t return, he doesn’t text like he has been, and Buck does what he’s always done when he’s interested in someone: starts to second guess everything that’s happened. He thinks about Adrian telling him it was never going to be forever, about the look on Ali’s face when he’d offered to move with her and she said _you’re not the marriage material kind of guy_ , and he wonders why the hell he ever thought it would be different with Eddie.

The blinds are done, and he still has another half hour he could work, but he starts packing his tools away. He thinks it might be better to get out of here before Eddie comes home— _if_ , his brain whispers, _he knows you’re here, he’s waiting until you leave_ —he knows how this goes, knows what happens when he goes down this path. 

He drives by Bobby’s on the way out of town, but Eddie’s truck is nowhere to be seen.

The nice thing about Vermont is that there are hiking opportunities everywhere, and the trails aren’t busy mid-day on a Thursday, so when Buck pulls off the highway, he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts, the ones that tell him of _course_ Eddie wasn’t going to stick around forever, that he wanted—and deserved—someone who wasn’t such a mess, someone who gave him what he wanted rather than leading him on and teasing him only to pull away when the temptation got too strong. 

He pulls _Tango Uniform_ out of his toolbag on the way out of the car.

Buck knows it’s silly; he’s read it so often that the book is falling apart, cracks in the spine from how often he’s flexed it back and forth while reading, pages creased and corners bent. It’s silly because he has all his favorite parts memorized anyway, all the pain and insecurity S.A. Edmund felt internalized, catalogued against his own experiences of being unwanted, unnecessary, all the hope imprinted in his heart for the future. It’s silly because at this point, the book is more like a comfort item to him, like a baby blanket or favorite stuffed animal, a physical shield against the worst the world can throw at him—or the thoughts in his own head. 

He doesn’t need to look for the passage he wants, just flips straight to page 58 and puts his fingers on it, pink highlighter placing importance on the words: _I have made mistakes that I can’t escape from, but that doesn’t mean I stop trying to be better. I can break out of a cycle I have forced on myself. I can fight the monster on my shoulder. I can silence the voice in my head. I can see the light beyond the shadow._

He reads them once, then again, sets the book next to him in the dirt and rests his head in his hands.

He can change.

_He_ can silence the voice in his head that tells him he’s not good enough, and he can get it together and talk to Eddie and if Eddie isn’t okay with what Buck needs, then he’ll accept it, and he’ll move on; a little darker, a little more heartbroken, but he’ll live.

He leaves Eddie a voicemail.

“Hey Eds, it’s me. I missed—sorry I missed you this morning … uh, I did the blinds in Chris’ room, you might have already seen that. I’m helping Chim out for the rest of the day but I was hoping that we could talk after that. I know we planned to go out tonight but—um, maybe we could talk first, if you could give me a chance to—anyway. Just let me know if that’s okay or if you—okay. Bye.”

Chim puts up with him pulling his phone out of his pocket every three minutes for the first half hour of the job, but Buck can tell when he starts getting frustrated, so he turns it off and buries it in his toolbag for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time five o’clock rolls around and he turns his phone back on, he has seven texts from Eddie. 

**Eddie:** I’m sorry, I missed you, but you’ll be here tonight?   
**Eddie:** I left my phone home on accident, I forgot today was my volunteer day with Chris until I tried to drop him off and they reminded me.   
**Eddie:** I just listened to your message, is everything okay?

And then, an hour later—

**Eddie:** I don’t know how else to say this but if you’re coming over to tell me that you’re not interested, you don’t need to.   
**Eddie:** I mean you can just text me.   
**Eddie:** I get the whole single dad thing is a lot and you’re good with Chris and I really appreciate it, I’m just trying to say I understand why you wouldn’t want to deal with it. 

And ten minutes ago—

**Eddie:** That all sounds so pathetic. Please call me. 

Eddie looks guarded when he opens the door; Buck takes in the tense line of his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip he has on the door, and abandons his original plan in favor of stepping close, sliding a hand behind Eddie’s neck and kissing him. 

“Please don’t say that’s a goodbye,” Eddie says, but his shoulders relax a little and he steps back to let the door close. 

“I’m sorry that I worried you,” Buck says, and stops. He’d made a plan on his drive over, and now he can’t remember a single word he wants to say. 

“You’re still worrying me, a little,” Eddie says. “You wanna sit down? Or if you’re not planning on staying—”

“I get anxious sometimes,” Buck blurts out, because fuck it. If Eddie’s going to stick around for as long as Buck wants him to, he should probably know sooner rather than later that Buck can be an insecure mess. “I didn’t hear from you this morning—I know you left your phone, but I—” he stops and blows out a breath, closing his eyes. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, and Buck goes when he pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. “Buck. You don’t need to tell me anything you’re not ready to talk about, I’m just glad you’re here.”

He drops his forehead into Eddie’s shoulder and crowds closer to him. “I haven’t had very good relationships,” he says. “I haven’t really had—well, there were just two but—I slept around a lot but I always wanted more, and I want more with you. So I thought I’d try to do it right, but I don’t think I’m going a good job of that.”

“I think you’re doing pretty good,” Eddie says. “I’m not really sure why you’re anxious about that.”

He’s not entirely sure what to say. _I’m anxious because I made up reasons why you were mad at me after I didn’t hear from you for a few hours_? _I’m anxious because I thought you might not like waiting to have sex so I assumed the worst about you_? 

“It just happens sometimes,” he says instead.

Eddie’s holding his hand. 

The bed of the truck has been lined with as many blankets as they could find—quite a few, and Eddie had looked sheepishly at him and muttered something about snow and cold and his sister decorating his house and buying more crap than he needed—and they’re sitting comfortably side by side and looking up at the fading daylight, waiting for the stars to appear. 

“It’s a lot like Texas,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet, has been since Buck directed him to pull off the highway and led them to a trailhead parking lot—technically closed for the night, but there are enough trees surrounding this one that he doesn’t think they’ll be visible from the road. “I don’t know if Chris remembers, but I used to drive out of town with him when I couldn’t sleep and we’d lay in the back of the truck and stargaze. He started asking about what they were so I tried to memorize constellations and tell him stories.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Buck is going to ask if he remembers any of them, but then Eddie takes a breath in and continues. “My mom used to say it was irresponsible, that Chris didn’t need his father waking him up at midnight to drag him outside just because I couldn’t sleep.”

Buck waits a moment to make sure he’s finished talking and picks up their joined hands and pulls them into his lap, rubbing his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles slowly. He loves Eddie’s hands; strong but soft, how they’ve touched him both tenderly and with desperation, the way he moves them when he talks. “If Chris remembers, I bet it’s a good memory,” he offers, looking over at him. “I’m sure he doesn’t remember being tired, just getting to spend time with his dad. It sounds nice.”

Eddie is—very, very attractive. Buck’s thought so since the first time he saw him. But like this, surrounded by trees and twilight and smiling softly at him, Eddie is the most beautiful thing that Buck has ever seen. 

They’ve slid down slowly over the evening, migrated from resting against the back of the cab and holding hands to laying down, huddled under a blanket. He’s got an arm around Eddie’s waist and one hand up playing lazily with Eddie’s hair as he kisses him, slow and sweet and open-mouthed. It’s always Buck that pushes, it’s been him that moves them from the slow memorization of each other’s mouths to frantic making out every time, but tonight he—can’t. He can’t shake the feeling that Eddie’s expecting more, that this won’t be enough, and he’s pretty sure that no matter what he tells himself about waiting, _he_ won’t be able to control himself for much longer if he keeps getting half-naked and rolling around on any flat surface available with Eddie.

So he holds back, keeps his hand on top of Eddie’s sweater, doesn’t roll Eddie onto his back like he wants to, and waits.

But Eddie never pushes, doesn’t climb on top of him, doesn’t do anything except slip one hand under Buck’s shirt and rest it against his side, his fingertips skimming slowly over Buck’s skin while he kisses him, slow and deep.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie shifts, head on Buck’s shoulder, and looks up at him. They’d ended up on their backs, and Eddie hadn’t hesitated when Buck stretched his arm out, just moved to get closer to him. “Sure,” he says. His hand is warm on Buck’s stomach, still underneath his sweatshirt. Buck never wants him to move it.

“When you were in the Army—”

“Not that,” Eddie interrupts, and he turns his head so he’s looking back up at the sky. “Sorry. I just—I’m not ready to talk about that.”

“Okay,” Buck says. He tilts his head, kisses Eddie’s temple, lets his lips linger, only pulls away a fraction of an inch. “Could I ask about Chris’ mom?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m not sure what I can tell you about that. Haven’t talked to her in six years.”

“She doesn’t see him?” His voice—it’s wrong, he sounds accusatory, which is ridiculous when he doesn’t know anything about the situation. He’d thought she might be dead, wondered if Eddie had been a widower or if he was grieving, but—how anyone could leave a kid like Chris, he doesn’t understand.

“She didn’t want him,” Eddie says, and there’s a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I’m not—we weren’t good for each other. When she got pregnant, I thought about asking her to marry me because that’s what you’re supposed to do, you know? My dad said, ‘you made a mistake, Edmundo, now be a man’, but I just—couldn’t. I went to look at rings, I tried to plan out a speech and it was all wrong, so I never went through with it. She took off when he was young, he doesn’t remember her at all.”

“Does he ever talk about her?”

“Not much,” Eddie says. “Sophia, my sister, she would always tell him that families all look different and he was lucky to have a dad like me,” Eddie snorts, like he doesn’t quite believe it, “but that he also had grandparents and aunties who loved him very much. You know him, he’s an easy kid. He accepted it.”

He tries to think of something—anything—to say that doesn’t sound judgemental, and probably fails. “I can’t believe she’s not even curious about him,” he says.

“This might sound bad,” Eddie says slowly, after a moment, “but I’m glad she’s not. Right now I can just tell him that she wasn’t ready to have a baby, but if she comes back and leaves again—I don’t know how to shield him from that.” He turns his face back towards Buck and Buck tilts down and kisses him gently, short, chaste kisses, a press of lips against skin, until Eddie’s mouth parts to let him in. 

“That’s Cygnus,” Eddie says. He lifts their joined hands and points, making a cross in the sky. “Cygnus was so distraught over the death of Phaethon, his friend—or lover, depending on which story you read—that he spent days diving into the river to collect his bones so he could bury him properly. The gods saw his devotion and turned him into a swan and put him up in the sky.”

It’s late, nearing midnight; Eddie’s been pointing out constellations to him for close to an hour, interweaving stories about their mythology and when he’d first learned about them, driving into the desert to be alone with his son, slipping one in about one he’d learned about from a friend during his deployment. Buck hadn’t pushed, and Eddie had looked relieved.

“I want that,” Eddie says quietly. “Not—you know. I want someone who would mourn for me like that.”

_Let me_ , Buck thinks. _I could be that for you_. 

“You deserve that,” Buck says, and pulls Eddie closer when he tenses and starts to move away. “Eddie,” he says, leaning down to kiss him, “you deserve someone who loves you that much.”

Buck doesn’t get home until just after three in the morning. He’s dead on his feet; the wear of the day had hit him somewhere around Bolton, the last half hour of his drive home had been done through heavy eyelids and with the windows down, wind blowing cold air in his face to keep him awake. 

He calls Eddie as soon as he drops onto his bed. 

“You made it?”

“Barely.”

He can almost hear Eddie frown over the phone. “Sorry for keeping you out so late.”

“‘m not,” he mumbles. His face is half smashed into the pillow, phone laying next to him with Eddie on the speaker. “See you tomorrow?” There’s a pause and he starts to backtrack. “If you’re busy—”

“Chris and I will come to you,” Eddie says. “He asked about Chim’s office, maybe we could get lunch and you could show him, and then we can find something to do. He’s been talking about apple picking or something, if you’re up for it.”

He swipes his alarm clock down and sets it for seven. It’s not much time to sleep, but he has homework he needs to get done, so he’ll manage. “Perfect,” he says. “Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“I had a good time. Thank you.”

“Are you still anxious?” 

He hesitates. Appearing needy—that’s never worked out for him, but neither has pretending he _isn’t_. And Eddie had been open—uncomfortable, but honest—with him all night, hadn’t judged—“A little,” he says. “But it’s better.”


	5. Week Five

Eddie needs a hobby that’s not texting or calling Buck about everything. He’s been trying to be more open with his feelings, more honest, and it’s difficult, but it’s—it’s worth it. He’s never had someone like this before outside of his sisters; someone who likes to hear from him, someone who thinks about him, someone who makes him laugh and feel good about himself. 

And so, so much more. 

“You thinking about me?” 

Buck’s voice is low, sleep roughed; Eddie wants to hear it every day of his life. 

“Was,” Eddie says without thinking, and feels heat rush to his cheeks. Jesus, it’s not even six in the morning, there’s no way Buck doesn’t _know_ —

Buck hums. “I can’t stay on the phone,” he says apologetically, “I need to finish something before class, but—Eddie. Don’t be embarrassed. I think about you, too.”

Bobby had told him he has friends here, so—he tries. Buck had talked about wanting to do things right, and Sophia had warned Eddie about Buck being the only person he relies on. 

So he swings by the cafe most mornings and talks to Bobby, gets to know the regulars that come in, spends time with a few of the older ladies who take up the back corner with their knitting club, meets up with some of the moms in Christopher’s class and plans play dates and learns about after school clubs and groups for Chris to join, and swings by the police station every so often to drop off coffee for Athena and say hello.

He writes, he hikes some of the trails around Stowe, he looks up things to do around the state, and he thinks about Buck always, a constant presence in his mind that soothes him, that makes him feel cared for and about. 

**Buck:** Mrs. Winter’s sink blew up on me and I just finished.  
**Buck:** Gonna stay home tonight. 

Eddie gets the text an hour after Buck is supposed to come over. Relief that it was just work holding Buck back fights with the disappointment curling through him—he wonders sometimes about the instant attachment he’d felt with Buck and has decided not to examine it too closely; his parents had married within two months of meeting each other, so maybe it just runs in the family, this knowledge deep down of _right_ , of being certain that something is the rest of your life. 

“Chris,” he calls down the hall, “shoes on, we’re going to Bobby’s for dinner.” He texts back a reply to Buck, asking if they’ll see him tomorrow, and frowns when the three dots indicating Buck’s response appear and disappear a few times without a response. 

Chris almost knocks into him as he comes around the corner, jacket hanging off one shoulder and smile on his face until he looks around the room. “Where’s Buck?”

“He’s staying home tonight,” Eddie says, taking Chris’ crutches when he sits down on the bench by the front door to tug on his shoes—lace up ones; outside of the watchful eyes of his grandparents, he’s asserting his independence in ways Eddie is both deeply appreciative of but also regards with a sense of remorse. Chris pauses and pouts up at him, and Eddie shakes his head. “He’s been coming over every night for awhile, buddy, and it’s a long way for him to drive. Buck has his own life, too.”

“I wanted to show him my math test,” Chris whines. “I got a 97%.”

“He’s gonna be really proud when you show him tomorrow,” Eddie says. “Walk or drive?”

Chris chooses to walk, so Eddie finds their hats, forces a pair of gloves on his son and pointedly ignores the way he rolls his eyes, and they make their way to Bobby’s slowly. Chris starts up another discussion about Halloween—helpfully reminding Eddie that it’s a mere thirty-three days away, and that _everyone else has their costume already_ , conveniently forgetting that the reason he doesn’t is because he had changed his mind three times the last time they went costume shopping and they’d ended up agreeing to try again and getting milkshakes instead.

Also—Eddie might have forgotten about it after that.

Bobby’s not on the grill, but Hen, Karen, and Denny occupy a table near the door and Chris heads right to them when Denny waves him over, and Eddie accepts their offer of a seat with a smile, waving off the menus—if there’s anything on there Eddie hasn’t tried, he’d be surprised—and ordering from May when she appears a minute later.

“No Buck tonight?” Karen asks once they’ve all settled, holding her milkshake out for Hen to take a sip. “That boy’s car has been in your driveway for a few weeks now, and someone told us that you two have been on a few dates.” She raises an eyebrow at him, knowing smile already firmly on her face.

“Two dates,” he says, ignoring the other comment—Buck’s still fixing the house up, but he’s also been over nearly every night for two weeks, showing up a few hours after Chris gets home to make dinner (which Eddie feels vaguely guilty about but not enough to turn down _good_ homemade food), help Chris with his math homework (something Eddie is certainly capable of but no longer allowed to do according to his son, who clearly likes spending time with Buck as much as Eddie himself does), and make out with Eddie on the couch after Chris goes to bed before driving back to Burlington and doing it all again the next day.

“Does that mean there’s gonna be a little third date action coming up?” Karen says, and Hen snorts beside her. “Denny would be thrilled to have Christopher sleep over, if you know what I’m saying.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up and he avoids her gaze, focusing on the boys instead. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he ends up saying; he doesn’t want to respond, but he doesn’t have it in him to turn down the offer. “Probably not for the third date, though.”

“Don’t let her get to you,” Hen says, reaching across the table and resting her hand over his. It surprises him, how comforting the gesture is. “Karen and Chim spend far too much time gossiping about their friends, but they both mean well. I meant to call Buck today but my interns kept me on the phone the whole drive home, how is he?”

“Said someone’s sink blew up on him,” Eddie says, and frowns. “I hope he meant it figuratively, but he didn’t elaborate.”

Hen laughs. “That boy’s always had a flair for the dramatics,” she says. “Is he still upset about his test?”

“No,” he says slowly, brow furrowed. “He hasn’t said anything about a test at all.” Hen exchanges a look with Karen, and he sighs. “Just tell me,” he says, “I’m sitting right here. Don’t try to pretend you’re not doing some weird married couple conversation right now.”

“Buck tends to … hold back,” Karen says after a moment. “It took him some time with all of us, to get to the point where he would tell us about things that upset him. Hen thinks he’s just reserved, but I think it’s more than that—”

“Last I checked, your degree was in business, not psychology,” Hen says, “and Buck would definitely not appreciate us talking about him like this to his new boyfriend.”

“Anyway,” Karen says, waving a hand at Hen and turning back to Eddie, “he doesn’t want to disappoint people—that’s not a secret Henrietta, honestly, two seconds with the kid and you know that—and he seems to think that having a bad day or not doing well will disappoint us, so he’s not always very forthcoming.”

“I’d noticed some of that,” he says, studiously ignoring Hen, who’s giving them both disapproving looks. “Chris likes to ask him questions, but he deflects a lot of them. He was over last night though and didn’t say anything about a test, you think it’s still bothering him?” 

He looks at Chris and Denny, frowning; Buck had been quiet the night before, but he’d brushed off Eddie’s concern, citing a long day up on someone’s roof, trying to get it reshingled before the forecasted rain started, and Eddie had let it go even though he’d been skeptical. Buck had spent twelve hours a day working on Eddie’s house the first few days he had known him, and he was just as peppy on hour twelve (and hours thirteen and fourteen, staying for dinner and showing Chris the best way to build a structurally sound block tower) as he was at the start of the day. 

Come to think of it, he’s been quieter for last week, letting Eddie take the lead in conversations, keeping more space between them when they’re on the couch at night—

Maybe he should have pushed. He’d wanted to respect his space, especially after Buck had talked about his anxiety, but maybe that was the wrong way to go.

He glances as Chris again, then looks back at Karen. “Would you guys—”

“We would be thrilled to watch Chris for a few hours, or for the night, whatever you need,” Karen interrupts. “Order that boy some food though, he has a habit of forgetting to eat when he’s upset. May,” she calls, waving her over. “Pack up Eddie’s and make something for Buckaroo, would you?”

“I can be back in time to get Chris to sleep,” he says, and Hen shakes her head.

“That doesn’t give you a lot of time, Eddie,” she says. “Just leave the door unlocked when you get your truck and I’ll hang out with Chris until you’re home, I’m off the next few days, it’s no problem.” She narrows her eyes when he stands up, only to sit back down immediately. “He’ll be happy to see you,” she says quietly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’m not,” he says, “I just realized I don’t exactly know where he lives, other than Burlington, and with some guy named Mark. We’ve gone to see him a few times but he always meets us somewhere.”

Karen has her phone out, and he’s hardly done talking when his phone buzzes in his pocket. “There,” she says, and stops him with a hand on his arm. “You’ve made him pretty happy lately, Eddie. Don’t let yourself overthink this, he’s just a private person.”

He’s not quite sure how everyone seems to know his business and what he’s thinking, but he can’t bring myself to care much right now.

It doesn’t take him long to walk back home for the truck, and only a few minutes to shove a few blankets into a tote bag Sophia had bought for him (he’ll tell her he used it, of course, and suffer the smug, knowing look that will come later), grab a couple of beers from the refrigerator, and he’s back at Bobby’s just in time to kiss Chris—who is not happy to learn he’s not invited—goodbye, and to accept the bag of carefully wrapped food from May. 

It takes just under an hour to get to Buck’s, and with every minute he feels guiltier that Buck makes this drive twice a day just to see him, to walk in the front door and immediately head to the kitchen with bags of groceries in his hands to start making dinner. Eddie’s been so starved for the easy affection that Buck offers him that he’s taken it without bothering to think about the effort Buck is putting in, and he’s going to have to start getting better about that. Having Buck around every night has been amazing, but maybe it’s time he starts making it clear that it’s not something he expects.

But—not tonight. Tonight, all he wants to do is give back. 

Buck looks surprised when he opens the door, and then his face falls into a nervous, worried expression. “Hey,” he says, his gaze darting between Eddie and the ground. “Um, is everything okay?”

Eddie tries to swallow down the disappointment he feels at Buck’s less than enthusiastic greeting. It’s easier when he really gets a look at him and takes in the dark smudges under his red-rimmed eyes, so he steps forward and slides his arm around Buck’s waist, gets his other arm around his shoulder and pulls him in. 

Buck stiffens for a moment, then melts against Eddie’s body with a sigh, letting their foreheads rest together. “Hey,” Eddie says quietly, tipping his chin up and kissing Buck softly. “I heard you weren’t having such a good night so I wanted to come and see if I could help. Or I could just drop off dinner if you really want to be alone, but I’d like to stay with you.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, “you really didn’t have to come all the way out here just for me.”

He thinks about Buck saying he was still anxious, and—“I wanted to,” he says. “You’re important to me. Coming out here isn’t a big deal.”

Buck puffs a breath out against his cheek. “Thanks, Eds.”

Eddie kisses him again, keeping it sweet, focusing on how soft Buck’s lips are against his. “Can I take you out?” he asks when he pulls away. “I got some sandwiches and stuff from Bobby’s, I thought we could go out to the lake, have a picnic.” Buck doesn’t say anything, just leans his head down and tilts his face into Eddie’s neck. “Or we can put this in the fridge and I can take you out on the date you deserve,” he says.

“I want the picnic,” Buck says, his voice muffled by Eddie’s skin. “Just give me a minute to change.” He pulls back and looks at Eddie critically. “It’s gonna be windy, do you have a sweater in the car? I can grab you one of mine if you don’t. You’ll want it under the jacket.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and hesitates. He’s trying to be better about asking for what he wants, and he knows that Buck will be happy, so he goes for it. “But I’d kinda like to wear one of yours?”

Buck smiles at him and takes another step away, pulling the Giants hoodie he’s wearing off and handing it to Eddie immediately. “I’ll wear yours,” he says, and Eddie has to lean in and kiss him when he blushes. 

“I’m gonna buy a boat,” Eddie says, staring out at the water, the lights of the marina reflecting off the lake. “In a few years, I think.” He doesn’t say _maybe you could pick one out with me_ , but he fully intends to keep Buck around for—well. Ever, he thinks. 

“Yeah? Sailboat?”

“That’s rich people bullshit,” Eddie says dismissively. 

Buck snorts. “I hate to break it to you, Eds, but that house you live in? Rich people bullshit.”

“I’m from _Texas_ ,” Eddie protests. “We have boats with big engines.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “Say it.”

“I _bet_ you have a big engine,” Buck blurts out before he starts laughing, high-pitched and near hysterical. He leans almost all his weight against Eddie, sighing when his laughter fades into occasional giggles.

Eddie leans his head against Buck’s, but when the song on Buck’s playlist changes over to something he recognizes, he squeezes their interlocked hands together. “Wanna dance?” He pulls Buck up and presses close to him, swaying gently to the sweet sound of Roberta Flack . 

“I didn’t see you as the dancing type,” Buck murmurs; his breath against Eddie’s ear makes Eddie shiver and tilt his head to press a kiss against Buck’s cheek.

“My grandparents used to dance to this in the kitchen,” Eddie says. If he closes his eyes, he can see the laminate flooring, the yellow cabinets in the house in El Paso, he can smell in menudo on the stove. “It’s true, you know,” he adds. “I thought—that first day, you smiled at Chris, and it was brighter than the sun.”

Jesus, if he could be more sappy, he doesn’t want to see it. He feels his chest burning, screaming at him to pull away, that this isn’t what men do—but Buck makes a noise against him, soft and sweet, and Eddie kisses him again. “But,” he starts; it’s difficult for him to talk like this, to be so open, he still waits to be shut down or dismissed sometimes, “I can be there for the dark, too. I want to be.”

“Eddie,” Buck says; his name sounds reverent in Buck’s mouth. “I don’t think—that means everything to me,” he says. “You know it’s the same for me, right? I know I’ve only known you for a month—and I technically work for you—but you’re kinda my best friend, and—I really like you. I hope you’ll let me be there, too.”

Eddie breathes through the swell in his chest, the way his heart threatens to give out. He’s not sure what to say to that, to the closest declaration of love he’s gotten since Shannon; everything he can think is too much, too heavy. So he says nothing and just leans against Buck, sways with him until the song fades into something else. 

“You should probably head back home soon,” Buck says, and Eddie hears the loneliness in his tone. 

“Soon,” Eddie says, and pulls him back to the ground, laying down on his back. Buck pushes in close, head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “I know we had a date planned tomorrow, but do you want to come to the house instead? We could just Netflix and chill. You can stay the night.”

He’s not sure why Buck freezes, but a moment later Buck says, “I still need more time for that,” and Eddie tilts his head to look at him.

“To watch movies?” he says, bewildered. “You’ve done that plenty of times. And you don’t—I have a guest room, you don’t—we can still do this slow.”

Buck stares at him, a weird expression on his face until a smile breaks through. “Eddie,” he says, “do you know what you’re asking?”

“For you to come over and watch a movie?”

Buck shakes his head; he looks at Eddie almost fondly when he says, “no, you asked me to come over for sex,” he says, and Eddie almost chokes on his own spit. He starts to protest, but Buck leans in and kisses him sweetly. “I’ll come over for a movie,” he says, “and I’ll stay the night—in your bed, if that’s okay—but the chill can wait.”

“I heard it from Adriana,” he says when he calls Buck that night, as soon as he parks the truck in the driveway. “She asked her boyfriend if she could come over to Netflix and chill—my _little sister_ , Buck, what the fuck.”

Buck’s laughter is loud over the line, and as disgusted as Eddie feels, he smiles. 


	6. Week Six

Buck wakes to Eddie’s hot breath on the back of his neck, arm tight around his waist, hips rolling against his ass; he pushes back before he even registers what’s happening and Eddie makes a soft, desperate sound in his ear.

 _He won’t kick you out again if you make him feel good_ , he thinks, and as soon as it’s in his head he hates himself for it. 

Behind him, Eddie stills for just a moment, and Buck hears a sharp intake of breath before the heat from Eddie’s body is gone. He keeps his eyes closed, listens to Eddie stumble out of bed and across the room, hears the bathroom door close before he lets out the breath he was holding. 

He keeps himself still; the water in the sink runs after a few minutes, but Eddie doesn’t come back to bed, just moves quietly towards the door and leaves.

Fuck.

He rolls onto his back and looks up at the dark ceiling, trying to ignore the very interested reaction his body had—getting himself off in Eddie’s shower was one thing, doing it in his bed was another, although he had to admit he was tempted—and then, because he doesn’t want to sleep alone, rolls out of bed. The office door is closed, a sure sign that Eddie’s hiding out, and he gives a cursory knock before opening it slowly, just enough to call Eddie’s name.

There’s no answer, so he pushes it open wider, until he can see Eddie sitting on the couch in the glow of the moonlight, head in his hands. He keeps the door open behind him and sits down, leaving space between them. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Eddie mutters, not moving. “Buck, I—”

“You were asleep,” Buck says, shrugging. He doesn’t blame Eddie for that, not when he wakes up from dreams so realistic that he has to put space between them so he doesn’t do the same thing. He probably would have put his hand over Eddie’s arm, told him to keep going, if he hadn’t been questioning their relationship all week.

“You said slow and I just—”

“Eddie,” he interrupts, “I’m not upset about it. Do you want to come back to bed?” Eddie ducks his head down further, and Buck reaches out for him, sliding a hand around his arm. “Come on. It’s the middle of the night, please.”

When they lay back down, Eddie stays flat on his back, and Buck sighs. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now, he just wants Eddie to surround him, to make him feel wanted—maybe when the sun comes up, he can talk about what’s bothering him, he can ask Eddie all the questions that have been on a loop in his head all week, he can figure out what he did to cause Eddie to pull away all his warmth. 

But—that’s not true. He’d taken one look at Buck when he’d opened the door and pulled him upstairs, told him to shower and change into lounge clothes, put him in bed after they finished dinner and ran his hand through Buck’s hair until he fell asleep. 

It was just all the time before that, starting from Monday morning, when he’d kissed Buck goodbye and said, “you should stay at your place this week. We can see each other on Friday.”

It wasn’t a question, a suggestion—it was a gentle command, one Buck couldn’t hear as anything other than _I don’t want you here_ no matter how hard he tried. 

He flips on his side, rolls over on his stomach and scoots as close to Eddie as possible; his face is mashed in Eddie’s armpit, arm wrapped around his stomach, but he feels a kiss on his temple and fingers in his hair, and he slides back into an uneasy sleep. 

It’s morning when he wakes up again; Eddie’s not in bed, but the shower is running, and Buck feels better than he has all week. At the very least, finally getting more than three hours of sleep has soothed some of his anxiety, given him space to see more of the situation. 

Now the only thing he has to do is talk to Eddie about it. 

He rolls over and buries his face in Eddie’s pillow, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne until the bed dips down and Eddie’s hand comes to rest on his back tentatively. 

“Don’t apologize again,” he mumbles, turning his face toward Eddie. “C’mere. Need to ask you something.” Eddie slides closer and Buck looks at him, reaches up and traces the shadows on his face from the light that falls past the curtains. Eddie’s skin is rough under his fingers, and Buck pulls him down to kiss his unshaved jaw. Maybe he doesn’t need to ask, maybe he can just accept that Eddie needs more space, that just because they accelerated the beginning of their relationship by spending every day together doesn’t mean they have to continue doing that. He can get used to sleeping on his own again, can get used to seeing Eddie and Chris on weekends, whatever Eddie will give him. 

“Buck,” Eddie whispers against his mouth.

“Forget it,” he says, and Eddie pulls back, frowning. “Eddie, it doesn’t matter. Come back.”

“Is it about last night?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats. He’s needy; he knows that. He craves affirmations, but Eddie had told him before that he wasn’t comfortable with talking about his feelings, so Buck was just going to have to learn how to read his body language, his actions, and manage himself.

“Alright,” Eddie says. “I won’t push, but you were upset last night and if I did something, I’d like the chance to apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Buck says, pushing himself up to sitting. 

“But I did do something to upset you,” Eddie says, watching him.

“I was tired,” he deflects. 

“You didn’t say a word to me all night, Buck,” Eddie says. He sounds frustrated, and Buck tenses. “You don’t have to tell me, but don’t pretend it’s not my fault, don’t lie to me—”

“You didn’t want me here,” he says, swallowing hard. “And it’s—it’s _fine_ , Eddie, that’s not your fault, I get that you need some space—” he cuts off, words swallowed by Eddie’s mouth, kissing him insistently. He thinks about pulling away, but this is what he wanted, isn’t it? There’s no mistaking the intent behind this; Eddie wants him here for right now at the very least, and he doesn’t need more than that.

Except—maybe he does.

Eddie’s hand is on his cheek and he leaves it there as he pulls away, thumb rubbing at the corner of Buck’s lips. “Give me a minute to think about this,” he says. “I told you, I’m not great with the whole talking thing, so—I’m gonna get dressed, and then we’ll do this.”

Buck lays back down, flipping onto his stomach, and listens to Eddie move around the room; the closet door creaks—he should really oil that—drawers open and shut, and before he’s ready, Eddie’s climbing back into bed with him, still shirtless. 

He could—

“I don’t need space,” Eddie says. He reaches over and rubs Buck’s back, and Buck shuffles a little closer, and waits. “You drive two hours a day just to see me, and you get here and start making dinner with the groceries you bought and—I should have told you this before, Buck. I didn’t mean I didn’t want you here, I just wanted you to know that you don’t need to do all of that for me.”

“I like doing that,” Buck says. Eddie moves closer; close enough to lean over and kiss his cheek and down to his lips. “I like being able to take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” Eddie says, and before Buck can react to the harsh tone, Eddie closes his eyes and curses. “That came out wrong,” he says. “Can we—wait? And talk about this later?”

Buck’s chest still feels the pressure from his words; he likes taking care of him, likes that he gets to show Eddie his affection in that way, wants him to know that there’s someone who thinks about him and puts him first when it’s clear Eddie doesn’t do that for himself. But as anxious as he is about it, isn’t Eddie trying? He’d said he wasn’t good with words, but he’s been nothing but communicative with Buck, and maybe he owes it to him to give him the time to think about what he wants to say so that they don’t end up having another week like this one. 

So he shoves the part of himself that still whispers he’s just tired of Buck away, rolls onto his side and reaches out for Eddie. They lose all space between them as they kiss, and it doesn’t take him long to get hard, hands mapping out the muscles in Eddie’s chest and abs, pressing his palms against him, kissing down his neck while he imagines going further, licking his way down Eddie’s body, holding his hips against the bed while he takes his cock in his mouth. 

Eddie’s hands are on his hips, and when his fingers slip inside the waistband of Buck’s sweats, he stops. 

God, he wants it, but—he’d spent the last week convinced that Eddie was going to end things, he’s still feeling a little bit of doubt, and—

“I’m gonna go shower,” he says. He kisses Eddie’s skin again, bites gently at his earlobe. “In a minute. I’m—”

“Gonna make me need another shower,” Eddie says; he’s breathing heavy, fingers gripping Buck’s hips hard, and when Buck sucks the skin below his ear, Eddie’s hips roll into his again. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Buck says. He _should_ stop, is getting too close to the point where he won’t, but Eddie’s body against his feels like a gift, warm and inviting. He kisses him again, sparks of pleasure building when Eddie presses against him tighter, rolls his hips one more time and groans. “Shower,” he says, pulling back. Eddie’s cheeks are flushed, and Buck is sure his are the same, his own breathing just as erratic. He drops one more kiss on Eddie’s lips, and—because he knows exactly what’s going to happen once he leaves the bed, whispers, “think of me,” and reaches down to snap the waistband of Eddie’s shorts. 

“I got it,” he hears Eddie say stubbornly, and Chris sighs. “Christoper, please go sit down. I’m capable of making pancakes.”

He rounds the corner, smiling—from what he’s seen of Eddie’s cooking, he has some doubts about Eddie’s capabilities, but that doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate Eddie’s clear attempts at making amends for whatever he thought he did wrong. It does surprise him to see all the necessary ingredients for buttermilk pancakes out on the island while Eddie peers at his phone. 

“Someone needs glasses,” he teases, and wastes no time in stepping behind Eddie and wrapping his arms around him, dropping his head to kiss the curve of his neck. “What’s all this?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what cooking is,” Eddie says. “I’m making breakfast for my boys.”

“Bacon?” he says hopefully, and Eddie laughs. 

“It’s in the oven already.”

Buck hums and kisses him again. “You—” _love me_ , he was going to say, but stops himself just in time, “are the best—” he kisses him again, “boyfriend.”

“I felt guilty,” Eddie says. “You do all this stuff for me, cooking, fixing my house—”

“You’re paying me to do that,” Buck points out, squeezing his hand. “That doesn’t count.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He doesn’t pull his hand away, but he turns, scanning the small chocolate shop, picking up boxes with his free hand and putting them back down. “I don’t do anything for you.”

Buck can’t help it—he laughs. Of all the ridiculous things, he thinks, the idea that Eddie needs to do anything more than he’s been doing is at the top. Buck doesn’t care if he never cooks a single meal for him (might actually prefer it, though the pancakes were good, if a little crispy), if he’s the one to do all the work around the house (it’s literally his job, and he enjoys it, working with his hands), or any number of things. “When I was with Ali, she was nice enough,” he says in response, “and I really wanted to make it work so I did _everything_. All the big dates, all the expensive gifts, everything I could think of that would make her want to stay. But it was never enough, you know? She let me initiate everything, and she was there but I don’t think she was ever very interested. So you—you’re here. You call me, you text, you ask people to babysit Chris so we can go out together—”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He looks upset, Buck thinks, frowning slightly, his jaw tense. “Being interested in the person you’re dating—that’s the bare minimum.”

He blinks, frowns back at Eddie. His throat burns suddenly, but he’s not sure why, doesn’t know why he feels like he might cry. “It’s enough,” he says again.

“It shouldn’t be,” Eddie says.

The hardware store is one of Buck’s favorite places. He has Chris on his back as they browse, standing in front of the cedar planks and breathing deep. He’s not sure where Eddie’s wandered off to; he’d promised Chris he could paint his bedroom now that it was fixed up, but Buck had spent the last ten minutes explaining the differences in the wood to Chris and now they’re separated. 

“Hey Buck,” Chris says; his chin digs into Buck’s shoulder when he talks. “Do you think they have kids tools here? So I could help you?”

“I think there are some things you should always go for quality,” Buck says, steering them towards the right aisle, “and tools are one of them. Let’s start you off with some screwdrivers.”

That’s where Eddie finds them, debating the differences between two different types of soft-grip screwdrivers. A few weeks of dating has been enough for Buck to learn that Eddie’s not comfortable with much more than holding hands when they’re out of the house, but he steps right in front of them and kisses Buck before reaching out to ruffle Chris’ hair. “I’ve been in the paint aisle,” he says, “you guys forget what we came for?”

“Buck’s buying me screwdrivers,” Chris says, “so I can help him fix the house.”

He looks over at Eddie; he hadn’t thought about it, but as soon as it’s out of Chris’ mouth he recalls the articles he read about dating single parents and not buying gifts unless they were approved. But Eddie just says “that sounds nice, I hope you said thank you,” and reaches for Buck’s hand. 

“Hey little man, I need the next roll of tape,” Buck says. He’s straddling the ladder in Chris’ room—something he told Chris never to do several times before he’d swung his legs over—taping along the ceiling and windows so they could paint the next day. Or as soon as he got done, if he could talk Eddie into it. The only way he managed to drag the ladder up from the basement was because Eddie said he needed to run an errand and Buck had quickly offered to watch Chris.

He was still a little surprised that Eddie took him up on it. 

“This is gonna be so cool,” Chris says, stretching up with the tape, holding onto the ladder with one hand.

Buck glances over at the cans on paint—a grey so light you can hardly tell it’s not white, and a burnt orange. He doesn’t agree, but Chris is excited, so he grins and rips the packaging open with his teeth on the new roll. “Sure is,” he says. “It’ll look like Halloween in here.”

“I _love_ Halloween,” Chris says. “Do you have a costume? Are you going to trick or treat with us? In Texas we only got to go for two blocks because it was too far for me.”

Buck frowns. It’s three times that to Bobby’s cafe, a distance Chris seems to make with little difficulty, especially when french toast is on the line. “Was it?”

“They said it was,” Chris says, settling back down and resuming his game on the phone Eddie had left behind. “I don’t have a costume yet. I don’t know what I want to be.”

“What were you last year?”

“A puppy,” he says, and he’s shaking his head when Buck pauses and looks down at him. “Grandma said I was so cute. I wanted to be a ninja but it wasn’t safe enough.” 

Grandma, Buck thinks, sounds a little overbearing. “Why don’t you go as a ninja this year?” 

“I don’t like ninjas anymore,” Chris says. “Auntie Sophia’s calling, have you met her? Hi Auntie. Do you know Buck?”

The front door slams closed just as he’s starting the last window and Eddie calls his name, appearing in the doorway a moment later. “Seriously?”

Buck grins at him. “Your son is persuasive.”

Eddie shakes his head but smiles. “You guys okay in here for a few more minutes? I need to bring something upstairs but then I’m all yours. Maybe we can go try out that Thai place, Chris, what do you think?”

“Buck said he’d make mashed potatoes and chicken,” Chris says. “I want biscuits, too. Do you know how to make those?”

“Out of a can, sure,” he says, peeling off the tape he’d just stuck down and straightening it. “If that’s not good enough—”

“It’s fine,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck looks over his shoulder to check his expression—exasperated but otherwise happy, he thinks, he can live with it. He _has_ been wanting to learn to make them from scratch though, so maybe he’ll look up some recipes anyway. “As long as Buck’s okay cooking, that’s fine. We can go to the grocery store and get everything Buck wants to cook for the week.”

He sighs. “Eddie, I don’t mind—”

“Not up for discussion,” Eddie says. “Be back in a few minutes.”

“He’s grouchy,” Chris says after Eddie leaves. “Are you going to leave again, Buck? He was really grumpy when you weren’t here.”

He tries to pretend that doesn’t make his heart beat faster and fails. “I’ll be around as long as you guys want me,” he says. “What else do you think you want for dinner this week? Wanna grab a paper and start making a list?”

They have their meals planned by the time Eddie returns and pulls Buck out of the room; Chris says he’ll finish the list on his own and Buck follows Eddie back up the stairs. “Need a little alone time?” he teases, trying to get his arms around Eddie’s waist and laughing when Eddie bats his hands away. 

“No, I think three showers a day is a little excessive,” Eddie says, and jumps when Buck smacks his ass. “I just wanted to do something for you.”

Eddie stops outside the office and waves him inside, and Buck sees right away that something is different; his desk has been moved from centered on the back wall to underneath one of the windows, and there’s a new desk to the left, dark espresso wood and bare except for a single lamp placed on the raised back shelf. “You—that’s for me?”

Eddie clears his throat. “You told Chris that you have homework, too,” he says. “I’ve never seen you do any of it.”

Buck cringes. “I get up early.”

“I wanted you to have your own space,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to stay here all the time, not if you don’t want, but if you do—you have stuff you need to do. I want you to be able to do that.”

He turns, tucks his face into Eddie’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him. For all Eddie’s talk about doing the bare minimum, this certainly isn’t it, and Buck’s heart swells when Eddie hugs him back, kissing his cheek. 

“It’s just a desk,” Eddie says.

“No, it’s not,” Buck says. 

It’s late when they finally pull away from each other, Eddie’s hands in his hair, forearms braced on either side of Buck’s head. Buck wants to listen to his ragged breathing forever, wants the weight of Eddie on top of him to be a new constant in his life, wants, wants, _wants_.

But still—

“Sorry,” he says; his own voice shakes with what he’s holding back. “I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says, kissing him again before he rolls to the side, and Buck misses his warmth immediately, chases after it, wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist and tries to get as close as he can. He ends up with his head on Eddie’s chest, pressed close to hear his heartbeat, a steady, reassuring thump that almost lulls him to sleep.

“Will you stay?”

“It’s two in the morning, Eddie,” he mumbles. “‘m not going anywhere.”

“I mean—tomorrow. This week. Will you stay? Pick some clothes up and whatever you need, I have room for your stuff in my closet or you can use the other bedroom up here, whatever you want.”

 _Stay_.

No one’s ever wanted him to stay before, and Buck’s never wanted it more than in this moment. 

“I’ll stay,” he says, rolling his head a little to place a kiss against Eddie’s bare chest. “Long as you want me.”


	7. Week Seven

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Bromundo, calm down,” Sophia says over the line. “Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my favorite brother?”

Eddie drops onto the couch in the office, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Because it’s four in the morning in Texas,” he says, “and you should be sleeping.”

“Alexa’s sick,” she says. He’d ask, but her tone is dismissive; Sophia has an innate sense of when not to worry about her kids that Eddie’s never learned how to tap into. Despite his medical training and the knowledge he’s gained over the years, he worries about Christopher every time he so much as coughs. “But you’re always up at five, or you used to be. Something tall, hot, and blond keeping you in bed later these days?”

He groans. “Shut up.”

“Is he as good in bed as he looks? Because—”

“Stop,” he says, more harshly than he means to. Buck’s been quiet about his dating history for the most part, but from what he’s mentioned, Eddie doubts he would be happy with Sophia insinuating their relationship was built on his physical attributes and how he used them. 

“Protective,” she says. “So you haven’t gotten laid yet, I’m hearing. What’s stopping you?”

“Again,” he says, “this is not a normal conversation for siblings to have.”

“Edmundo,” Sophia sighs, “Adriana is single and ‘focusing on school’, my husband’s been gone for a few weeks, and now you’re telling me that you’ve got someone who looks like _that_ and you’re _still_ not sleeping with him?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Mom wants to come out to visit you.”

He stops. “Sophia.”

“She’s talking about it, at least.” Sophia sighs. “She’s pissed that I won’t give her your address. She asked Adriana but she pretended she didn’t remember, pulled her whole ditzy routine.”

Eddie blows out a breath and leans his head back on the couch. “Thanks for the heads up. How are the twins? Do they need anything?”

“They _didn’t_ need their school tuition paid, but I appreciate it, Eddie. You really didn’t have to.” 

He hates it when they do this; both she and Adriana insist they need nothing, his money is useless to them, they can take care of themselves. He knows they can, but _he_ can also take care of them, and he wishes they wouldn’t fight him so much on it. “You know I want to help,” he says. “You guys wanna come out for Christmas? Let the kids see snow?”

“Abuela is expecting us,” Sophia says, “and Christopher, too, don’t deny her that—oh crap, I think Andre is throwing up. Shit. Love you, baby brother.”

His phone buzzes before he makes it off the couch and he looks down, unlocking it on his way back to bed. 

**Sophia:** Dad’s taking Mom on a cruise so they won’t be there. Come out with us. Bring your boyfriend. 

A year ago, he thinks, he would have never had this. He was still writing _Tango Uniform_ in the middle of the night, waking up sweating from nightmares, dragging himself through long days at the auto shop, at the restaurant, barely seeing Christopher. And now—Chris is curled up on his chair in the office, drawing on a sketchpad while Buck is hunched over his desk, working through a set of math problems that Eddie thinks looks more like a novel than numbers. 

Jesus, he owes Sophia so much.

“Dad,” Chris says, spotting him as soon as he walks into the office, “I forgot to tell you about my report.”

“I’m listening,” he says. He takes another moment to observe Buck, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, before stretching out on the couch. All the desire he has for him makes his skin feel like it’s on fire at times, when Buck’s pressed close to him, but then there are times like these where he feels like it’s an itch he can’t scratch, like goosebumps that trail down his body and send shivers racing after them. 

“I need to write about a historical place here,” Chris says. “And do some art, like a picture of it. Mr. Jeffers gave me a paper for you but I accidentally left it in my cubby.”

“Bring it home Monday and we’ll figure out what you can write about,” Eddie says. When Chris doesn’t respond, Eddie shifts his gaze and looks over at him, eyes narrowing. Chris is a noisemaker—constantly talking about everything, every little moment filled with humming or off-key singing, imitations and sounds falling from his mouth with ease. Silence is, and always has been, suspicious. 

“Well,” Chris hedges.

Eddie sighs, and Buck snorts, looking over his shoulder and grinning. “Out with it.”

“I have to turn it in on Monday.”

He sighs again. “You have a folder for a reason.”

“I know.”

“ _This_ reason,” he says, sitting up. “Did they give you a list of places to choose from?”

“Well,” Chris says again, drawing the word out. “I don’t really remember them.”

Buck moves then, standing up and turning to straddle his chair; an extra one that Eddie has brought up from the kitchen table—he’s taking Buck out tomorrow to find a more comfortable one and hopefully picking out a new bed set for Chris, because his Captain America comforter clashes terribly with his new orange wall. “We could go to Haskell,” he offers, resting his folded arms on the back of the chair. “It’s a library and opera house up on the border.”

Eddie makes a face. “Do we have time to get there? It’s nearly noon.”

Buck laughs. “Okay, Texas, this isn’t the second biggest state in the county. The border’s an hour from here—seriously, you’ve lived here for six months, you haven’t explored?”

“We’ve only been to Burlington,” Chris says. “Dad doesn’t like exploring.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “I just—”

He’s not really sure what he can say; he hasn’t told Buck about the nightmares, hasn’t said a single word about his deployments except that he’d been on one, too nervous to admit to the second one in case he made all the connections between Eddie’s life and his book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he’d moved them out here on a whim and then spent the last several months panicking because there was nothing here for him, nothing familiar for him to grab onto and put roots down with, no link between the deserts he’d always lived in and the lush, green forests of his new home. Vermont _felt_ big, even if it wasn’t, to Eddie’s fractured and broken soul. 

“That just means we get to explore together,” Buck says, smiling over at him, and Eddie—

Eddie thinks he loves him.

He needs to call Sophia.

Christopher announces that he’s hungry ten minutes after they get into the truck, and Buck looks over at Eddie and grins, squeezing his hand. “Buddy, we just asked if you wanted a sandwich,” Buck says, shaking his head. “You swore you didn’t,”

“That’s because I want a burger,” Chris says. “With a milkshake, please.”

He nods when Buck glances at him again, eyebrow raised. “Alright,” Buck says. “Can you wait about twenty minutes? There’s a good place up the highway. They probably have milkshakes, but we can for sure get a creemee.”

He’s thankful that Chris asks the question so he doesn’t have to. “What’s a creemee? Like a little ice cream?”

“What’s a—Edmundo Diaz, six months and you and your child have never experienced a maple creemee?”

“Buck,” he says, “the name sounds ridiculous. We eat real ice cream, not whatever that is.”

He tunes Buck’s long-winded explanation about fat content and air-whipped something or other out and watches him, takes in how he keeps one hand firmly on the steering wheel but glances in the rearview mirror at Chris every so often, grin on his face as he describes how maple syrup is tapped from the trees—“what are they _teaching_ you at that school, unbelievable, we’re going to have to go to a maple farm during sugaring season, there are some with farmhouses you can stay in”—his other hand moving through the air to punctuate his words. 

Maybe it was inevitable that he fell for Buck, he thinks. He’s never seen anyone outside of his sisters treat Christopher with such respect, talking to him like it’s a given that his opinion and ideas mean something to Buck. He can look back and pinpoint all the times when he gave little pieces of his heart away, when he would feel such an intense wave of belonging and certainty that it made him feel off-kilter. He’s been struggling to find his footing in Vermont since he and Chris drove into town in the middle of a late season snowstorm, and he would have never expected that a tree crashing through his son’s wall would have led to him finally feeling a sense of place, to finding people who mattered to him.

He loves Buck.

But he wishes he had never put that name on it, wishes he hadn’t realized that _love_ is what he feels when he looks at him in the early morning light when Buck is wrapped around him in bed, when Buck walks in the door and drops his toolbag on the bench to kiss him first thing, when Buck and Chris sit together in the office doing their homework in soft silence.

Because he'd written it, nearly a year ago, that he didn't see love as being an option for himself, and now that it’s right here beside him, so close he can reach out and touch—he still thinks the words hold true. 

Buck keeps looking at him.

Eddie knows it, knows he’s quieter than normal; Buck had accepted his weak excuse of not feeling well but very clearly saw right through it and just decided not to push. Eddie’s grateful for it, because he needs a chance to work through all this self-doubt in his head before he does or says something that damages their relationship.

It’s a cloudy day, cold enough for sweatshirts but thankfully not raining, and Chris pulls his sketchpad out of his bag as they walk up to Haskell and sits right down on the grass, staring up at the building. Buck’s talking about a tour that starts soon, eyes glued to his phone, and Eddie’s so wrapped up in visions of him walking right out of their lives when he realizes what a mess Eddie is that he only snaps out of it when he realizes they’re both staring at him. 

“Dad,” Chris says, clearly not for the first time, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine, buddy,” he says, focusing on the outline Chris has drawn on his paper. “That’s pretty good, you know. Maybe we should look into art lessons for you.”

Chris nods, apparently satisfied, and peers back up at the Victorian-style library. 

Buck doesn’t say a word. He’s kept careful space between them since he realized something was wrong, when Eddie laughed too late at all their jokes during lunch and checked his watch a dozen times like looking at it would make the time pass by any faster. 

Eddie hates it.

 _Just tell him_ , he tells himself. _He was honest with you, he’ll understand, just_ —he reaches out instead, sliding his hand into Buck’s and squeezing. It has the intended effect; Buck turns and steps in front of him, close enough that all Eddie has to do is lean forward. Buck’s arms come up around him without hesitation, his lips soft against Eddie’s cheek. 

“This something you don’t want to talk about around Chris or just something you don’t wanna talk about?”

He searches for something—anything—to blame this on, because he doesn’t want Buck blaming himself for Eddie’s ever-present feelings of inadequacy, and says, “My parents want to come visit and it’s just—I’m sorry. I just need to talk to Sophia about it and see how likely it is that they’ll show up and start telling me how everything I’m doing is wrong.”

Well, he thinks, it’s not exactly a lie. 

“The tour is in half an hour,” Buck says. “You wanna go call her and meet us back here after? He’s probably just going to be drawing the whole time.”

He loves him. 

Sophia looks at him for a long time after he tells her, silence stretching out between them as he leans his head against the passenger side window, watching Chris and Buck draw together, side by side on the grass.

“Eddie,” she says finally, “I need you to understand that I’m not saying this to upset you, but you survived a hugely traumatic experience and I _know_ you’ve come a long way, but I think this—it’s a coping mechanism. You feel vulnerable and that makes you uncomfortable, so you’re looking for a way out of it.”

He ends the call. Three attempts later, he picks it back up. “I’m not freaking out because someone shot at me,” he snaps. 

“Tell me why you think love isn’t for you. Don’t pretend with me, I read that book, too, and I don’t like to throw it in your face but you’re calling me in a panic and this isn’t the time to talk around your issues.” She’s pacing back and forth, stopping to lean against a doorway in her office and moving again, always moving. 

“Soph, I don’t have anything to bring to a relationship—”

“Bullshit,” she interrupts. “You’re a good man, a good father—”

“So what? All I’ve got is some money in the bank and a fucking mess in my head that no one needs to deal with. I can’t give him what he wants.”

He hears her phone hit her desk with a clatter before she picks it back up and fixes him with a glare. “Eddie,” she says, “you don’t want to get hurt, and I get that. I really do. Giving that power to someone is terrifying, but if you think it’s not going to hurt to walk away from him, think again. You’re always going to wonder if he could have handled it. You’re always going to wonder if you could have been happy.”

He blows out a breath and sinks down further in his seat, tipping his head up to blink at the roof of the car. “He could leave.”

“He could,” she says, more gently now, “and it would break your heart, I know. But Eddie—he could _stay_. Give him the chance to love you.”

_I love him_ , he writes. _I love him, I have loved him, and I didn’t shy away from it until I realized what it was. Today isn’t the first time I’ve thought that I wanted forever with him, it’s not the first time I imagined a future beyond the next few weeks, months. It’s not the first time I’ve thought that he’ll be the last person I kiss like this, the last person who will touch me._

_It’s just the first time that I looked at him and wanted to tell him I loved him._

_My sister told me that he could break my heart, and she was right, and it makes me want to pack up my son and move across the country again, find somewhere that will be safe._

_But—he could break my heart. And I think I’m going to give him that chance._

He’s not going to tell him. 

Not yet. 

But he slides an arm around Buck’s waist when he joins the group waiting for the tour, lets his fingers work their way under his shirt to rub again his smooth skin while they listen to a guide talk about Martha Stewart Haskell and her son, slides his hand along to the small of Buck’s back while they take pictures of Chris with one foot on either side of the boundary line that runs through the reading room. They leave Chris in the children’s section, talking to the librarian to get information about his report, and after Eddie makes him promise three times to not wander off, he pulls Buck to the back of the library, finds an empty row of books, pushes him against a shelf and shoves the bottom of his shirt up.

“Gonna get us kicked out if you take off any more of my clothes,” Buck murmurs against his lips, pulling Eddie closer, teasing his tongue against Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t care,” he says. If he’s going to do this—love Buck, accept the possibility that he’ll get his heart broken, that he’ll have to start over _again_ , he’s going to at least try to show Buck how much he wants him, even if he can’t say the words yet. 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers; he reaches down and catches Eddie’s wrists, holding them still in between their bodies and—fuck, it turns Eddie on more than it should, he thinks. “We’re on the Canadian side, don’t start an international incident.”

He knows he needs to let it go, step back and calm down, and he’s willing to be patient and wait until Buck decides he’s ready, but—there’s a part of him, the part that really needs to get off somewhere other than in his shower every night before bed—that wonders if Buck’s ever going to decide the time is right. Short of stripping entirely and starting in front of him, he’s not sure how much more obvious he can be that he wants more. 

“You can bail me out of Canadian jail,” he says, but he shuffles back a few inches, kisses Buck softer. 

Buck hums, grinning. “Afraid I don’t make enough for that, sorry.”

They drive home in comfortable silence, Chris listening to music in the backseat, nodding his head along to whatever beat he hears. Buck holds his hand the whole way unless he’s busy sweeping his fingers up and down Eddie’s arm, pulling shivers out of him and leaving goosebumps in his wake. They stop at a farm on the way, piling a basket with fresh-pressed apple cider, a box of apple cider doughnuts, and produce that Eddie knows for sure he won’t touch, but Buck looks happy when he inspects them to pick out the best, and Eddie presses him against the door of the truck and kisses him until Chris knocks on the window and tells them to stop being gross.

Dinner is simple, pasta and the french bread that Chris begs for, and Eddie lets him stay up late with them to watch Hocus Pocus and endures him changing his mind about a Halloween costume twenty times over the course of the evening.

When they finally climb into bed that night, Buck says, “you don’t have to keep asking, I’m here,” when Eddie asks him to stay again.

They don’t have sex, but Buck kisses him until he sinks into the mattress, warm and pilant under Buck’s hands, writhing and desperate for more, but quietly grateful for the realization that he’s wanted, _desired_ just how he is.

So he’ll just—ask him for more. 

Tomorrow. Or—this week. 

Soon.


	8. Week Eight

_How much I love you_.

He fell asleep with the words ringing in his ears, a repetitive loop that tugs at all his insecurities and doubts, and woke up with them still rattling around.

_I think we’ll both mess up, but the way I feel about you? How much I love you? That’s not something you can mess up, Buck._

He will, he thinks, turning his head to look at Eddie, soft with sleep in the dawn’s light that glows through the window. He’ll mess it up, because he’s never even gotten to this part before, has never had someone give their love away so easily to him. He doesn’t know how to handle that, doesn’t understand why he’d opened his mouth to tell Eddie that he loved him too, only to have the words stick in his throat.

 _How much I love you_.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he said it.

He _loves_ Eddie. He does, he—thinks he does. It’s not like with Ali, who he told he loved because he’d already done the rest of it, already bought her jewelry and took her on a trip and shoved so many flowers at her that she might as well have lived in a garden. It was just the next thing on a list of ways to make her fall in love with him, words she’d never repeated back, words she’d laughed at softly when she told him she was leaving.

But Eddie had wanted more, and Buck had wanted to give him the world, but all he could say in response was _I’m gonna make you feel so good_ because at least that—he knows how to do that.

He’s not entirely sure he knows how to love.

“You have gloves?”

“Not big enough to fit your big hands,” Hen says. “Give me a second.”

He doesn’t need them to fit, just wants to avoid getting all the dirt and slime on his hands when he reaches into the pipes to dig out whatever Denny had shoved down the drain—a big clump of yarn, he finds out a moment later. He pulls it out, moves the bucket under the pipe, and taps the floor. “Alright, run the water,” he says, shining the flashlight up. “Looks good.”

“You’ve been pretty quiet lately,” Hen says while he reassembles the pipes. “Eddie comes around and you forget you have other friends?”

“Sorry,” he says, chagrined. “I should have—”

“I’m just teasing you,” Hen says. “Karen and I were inseparable those first few months. I went weeks just sending Chim texts; it felt like everything revolved around her. The honeymoon will wear off and you’ll resurface eventually.”

He reaches for the wrench and pauses. “Hen? How’d you know you loved her?”

Hen laughs. “I was in a surgery one day,” she says, “and I remember thinking that the blood was the same color of the lipstick she had been wearing the night before. Everything reminded me of her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and I realized I was starting to plan out a future with her in it.”

“Was it easy?”

“Sometimes,” she says, and when he slides out from under the sink, she reaches out and rests a hand on his arm. “You love him?”

“I thought I did,” he says, tossing the wrench back into his bag and turning the water back on, watching to make sure nothing leaked.

“And then?”

He closes the cabinets and sits back against them, stretching his legs out. “And then he told me he loved me,” he says quietly.

“You freaked out.”

“I tried to say it back,” he says. “I just kept thinking that eventually, I would hurt him.”

“You will,” Hen says; he looks up at her, frowning, “and he’ll hurt you. And every time, you’ll have to choose to keep loving each other. Buck,” she leans forward and takes his hand, squeezing it between hers, “it’s worth it. Don’t let that stop you.”

“I wasn’t so great in the past,” he says, tipping his head back against the cabinets and looking up. One of the ceiling lights is burned out—he should fix that for her while he’s here. 

“Well, you aren’t dating him in the past,” Hen says. “You’re dating him now.”

Eddie’s downstairs when he makes it back across the street, tupperware full of Karen’s famous broccoli and pea salad in hand. He opens his mouth— _I didn’t run out, I didn’t leave, I swear_ —but Eddie just smiles at him over his shoulder and goes back to lighting a fire, poking at the firewood until it catches and the flames start their slow consumption. 

Right. Eddie’s not worried about Buck running out, because Buck hadn’t told him about all of that.

Maybe he should. 

“I used to sleep around a lot,” he blurts out, which—smooth. Perfect. Eddie stares at him, brow furrowed, and Buck sighs. “You—I already told you that. Sorry. But—I never stayed. In the morning. It wasn’t what anyone wanted from me and—” he stops. “Fuck.”

He probably should have talked this out with Hen more.

Eddie’s still staring at him; he crosses his arms over his chest and Buck’s heart sinks. “Are you telling me you’re leaving?”

“No?” Of course he’s not _leaving_ , he’s right here, he never wants to leave and one day Eddie might want him to and _that’s_ the problem. “I just—I’m good at the sex part. I’m not good at the rest.”

Eddie looks at him for a moment longer, squinting and tilting his head; he looks confused—and adorable—and Buck drops his toolbag on the bench, kicks his shoes back off, and walks over to him, setting the tupperware down on the back of the couch and reaching out. “Buck,” Eddie says against his lips, “we’re going to have to teach you how to plan out conversations before you have them, because one day, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. “But—”

“You’ve been good at this part for weeks,” Eddie says, cutting him off. “But I think you’re a little rusty with the sex, we should go upstairs and practice some more.” His hands slide up Buck’s back, under his shirt, nails gently scratching, and Buck shivers.

“I’m trying to tell you something,” he protests, but doesn’t move, can’t move away from Eddie’s warm body and strong hands.

“So am I,” Eddie says. His lips glide along Buck’s neck and Buck tightens his hold on him, moaning when Eddie’s teeth graze over a sensitive spot near his collarbone. “Only with fewer clothes on and you on top of me.”

“Eddie—”

“You’re not leaving,” Eddie says against his skin. “That’s all I want.” 

He bites down and Buck gives in, sliding his thigh between Eddie’s legs and pushing up, threading a hand in Eddie’s hair and pulling his head back so he can lean down and kiss him, sucks on the curve of his shoulder until he knows he’s left a mark while Eddie rubs against him. He twists them around, drops Eddie onto the couch and follows, covering him with his body. 

“Bed,” Eddie says. “Buck, please.”

Buck kisses him again, shifts his hips until he finds the right place and thrusts his hips up; even through the fabric, Eddie’s cock feels hard and heavy against his, the quiet sounds coming from Eddie’s mouth make his heart beat faster. “I’ll fuck you later,” he says, and Eddie chokes off a noise, shoves his hands under the waistband of Buck’s joggers and pulls him closer. “But you’re so hot like this, Eddie, fuck, I want to watch you just like this.”

He does; he keeps his eyes on Eddie’s face as he slides a hand underneath his shirt and touches his skin, rubs his thumb over Eddie’s belly button and up his chest to his throat, scratching lightly at his skin. He’s not going to last much longer, not when Eddie’s mouth is open and he’s panting, a flush creeping up on his cheeks, lashes dark against skin as he bites his lip. Buck tilts his hips again, muscles in his legs tensing as he speeds up, pressure building in the base of his spine and he’s so close, could let go easily—Eddie jerks underneath him and stiffens, fingers gripping into Buck’s skin tighter, and his stuttered exhalation against Buck’s mouth sends him over the edge, grunting quietly as he works himself harder against Eddie’s thigh before he comes with a sharp inhalation. 

He lets himself fall, lets Eddie take his weight and closes his eyes, floating away to the sound of Eddie’s heartbeat against his ear, Eddie’s palms pressed flat against his back. They should get up, shower—especially before Chris gets up, Buck thinks, he’s going to have to be more careful in the future—but Eddie seems content not to move and it’s really the last thing he wants to do, anyway.

 _I love you_ , he thinks, but the words don’t come when he opens his mouth. 

“Tiles for the bathroom are in,” Eddie says when Buck comes into the kitchen. “Chris and I need to go get his costume today, maybe we could pick them up on the way back home?”

He tries not to work on the weekends, but—“I can go get them now and get started,” he says, giving Eddie a kiss as he passes and opens the pantry door, digging for the bread. “If I can spend the day tiling, we can put on the grout tomorrow and—”

“We have the harvest carnival tonight,” Eddie reminds him, and when Buck turns around, he’s holding the peanut butter and a butter knife out with a grin. “This is what you wanted, right?”

 _I love you_ , Buck thinks, and takes it from him. “If I start soon, I can be done by then, I think.” Tiling sounds good, monotonous and repetitive, enough time to think but keep his hands busy. “Hen said Denny still doesn’t have a costume either, maybe you guys could go together.”

“We wanted to go with you,” Eddie says. “You sure you don’t want to come with? We can pick you out something, too.”

He spreads the peanut butter on the bread, folds it in half, and offers it to Eddie, who makes a face at him. “I gotta do this all at once,” he says, “a few hours here and there is just gonna drag it out the whole week, and Chris wants his own bathroom back.”

“We’ll bring you back lunch, then,” Eddie says, taking the knife from where he’d set it on the counter and rinsing it before tossing it in the dishwasher before moving towards the refrigerator. “I’ll give Hen a call, maybe she can watch Chris while we go pick everything you need up.”

“I can get it,” he says through a mouth full of thick peanut butter. “Just lemme borrow the truck for an hour.”

“You’re gonna give me a complex if you keep trying to get away from me, Buckley,” Eddie says, shaking his head with a grin.

“Uh, this is the wrong way,” Eddie says unhelpfully as Buck turns right onto the highway from the hardware store, like Buck hasn’t lived here twice as long as he has. “Where are we going?”

“Clinic,” Buck says. Eddie’s quiet, and he glances over, looks at the way Eddie stares out the window. “We can keep using condoms, Eddie, I just thought—”

“No, it’s—good. We should,” Eddie says.

Buck lets silence fall, avoids looking back over at Eddie, who’s studiously avoiding looking at _him_ , though he can’t figure out why. He should ask, he’s going to have to get used to being vulnerable and opening himself back up to the possibility of being hurt, but he’s spent the last year and a half avoiding anything that could possibly end in heartbreak and it’s difficult to stop keeping everything inside. 

He parks the truck a few minutes later but doesn’t get out, just shifts his body towards Eddie and waits, reaching out for his hand. “We don’t have to,” he says, and Eddie squeezes his hand back and looks over at him.

“I was going to eventually,” he says. “I just didn’t think we’d be doing it together. I’m not used to this.”

“Talking about sex?” He’s not surprised; Eddie’s cheeks flush when he brings it up, or whenever he had made it obvious that he was thinking about it. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, still looking away, “and—having someone. Uh. I didn’t—sometimes—fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “Can we talk about this later?”

Eddie always _tries_ , he realizes, listening to him stumble through an explanation of whatever’s going on in his head, even if he can’t get it out the first time, he tries, and it makes it clear that they _will_ talk about it, just not until he has more time to think about it. Plan his conversation, Buck thinks, and can’t help but smile. “I appreciate you,” he says, because if _I love you_ still pauses on his lips, at least he can make it clear in other ways, and the corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up. “Come on. Let’s get this over with,” he tugs Eddie across the center console and kisses him, presses his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and right below his ear, “and then when I let you fuck my mouth, I can swallow.”

He _hears_ Eddie swallow, the way his breath shakes when he breathes in. “You can’t just say things like that in a fucking parking lot when you can’t follow through,” Eddie says, breath hot against Buck’s cheek. “Jesus Christ, I can’t get out of the truck like this,” and when Buck leans against him and laughs, he pinches Buck’s side. “Asshole.”

This is going to take so much longer than two days, he thinks. He’d stripped the old tile and shower stall out on the day they’d placed the order at the hardware store and had done the cement backers at the same time, but clearly his experience with square tiles being easy is not going to hold true for the fish-scale shaped tiles Chris had excitedly picked out. 

He barely has two rows done by the time Eddie and Chris get back, and his body aches from kneeling on the hard ground, so when Chris bursts through the door and holds up a bag from the Halloween store, he’s more than happy to take a break. He places the last tile of the row on the wall, sets in a spacer, and strips his gloves off. “What’d you get, buddy?”

“I’m gonna be a firefighter,” Chris says happily. “And you and Dad, too!”

He raises an eyebrow. “All of us? Wow. That sounds pretty cool.”

“I asked Dad if we could paint the truck red and he said no,” Chris says, giggling. “Then I asked for a dalmatian and he said no again.”

“Go big or go home,” Buck says, grinning back at him. 

“I’ll put this away and help you,” Chris says, and Buck waits until he’s out of the room to drop his head and stretch, reaching down to dig his fingers into his knees. He likes it when Chris follows him around and works with him, asking every question that pops into his head and meandering off on rambling stories, the tools Buck will need set carefully out in front of him, but tiling is a different story and he’s pretty sure that whatever help Chris wants to give will add a few hours to the job. 

He grabs a towel from under the sink and folds it up, makes a cushion for Chris’ knees, and gets back to work, marking off the next row and popping the lid off the mortar. Chris settles in right next to him when he comes back and Buck shows him how to spread the mortar on the back of the tiles, scraping to get it across every edge. 

Chris chatters about all the costume options he had seen, tells Buck he settled on being a firefighter because they could all do it together, and because Eddie had refused to dress up like Iron Man. “I wanted you to be Captain America,” he says offhand, and Buck grins. 

“Cause I’m blond?”

“No,” Chris says seriously, “because you’re super strong. Stronger than Dad, I think, but he looked funny when I told him that.”

“I didn’t look funny, I looked offended,” Eddie says from behind them, smiling when Buck looks over his shoulder. He wonders how long he’d been standing there, watching them work. “Come on, I think it’s time for me to take my favorite guys to lunch.”

Eddie drops Chris off at Bobby and Athena’s after lunch at Bobby’s insistence, Harry and Denny waving video game controllers at them from the window, and Buck goes straight back into the bathroom, determined to finish before they have to get ready for the carnival. He’s not sure how much time has passed when Eddie comes in and closes the door behind him, just knows that he’s got a good four rows to go but Eddie’s pulling at him, pushing him up against the only wall that Buck hadn’t ripped to shreds and kissing him. 

“Here,” Eddie says when he pulls back, and Buck chases after him with his mouth only to have Eddie laugh and push him back. “Here,” he says again, pressing his phone into Buck’s hands.

The screen is unlocked and Buck stares down at it, takes a moment to blink and understand the row of negative test results before he fumbles for his own phone on the counter and tries three times to unlock it while Eddie attaches himself to Buck’s neck, lips and teeth everywhere, hands popping open the button on his jeans and pulling them down. 

It takes forever; he hits the wrong link, types in his email wrong when Eddie’s hand closes around his cock and starts stroking, nearly drops the phone when Eddie whispers “I’m gonna make you feel good,” in his ear. He doesn’t even look when the results load, just makes a noise in his throat and tries to shove the phone into Eddie’s free hand, and lets his head fall back against the wall. 

And then Eddie moves back and he has a second of doubt, a moment of terror that something’s wrong before Eddie drops to his knees, and fuck—Buck has done this so many times before, but nothing has ever looked as good as the sight of Eddie Diaz on his knees for him.

The costumes are the cheap, plastic kind, but Chris looks delighted when Buck and Eddie pull the black helmets on their heads and smile at Hen, waving her phone around for a picture. She takes several, directing them on how to pose, ending up with Chris between them, his small arms thrown around both their shoulders. 

They make their own little group at the carnival, sticking with Hen, Karen, Bobby, and Athena—Chim meets them there, ready to drop money on treats, he tells the kids, winking, and it hits Buck, with all of them there, that he _belongs_ with them, that Eddie and Chris round them out so well, the missing pieces that Buck had wished for before he’d even met them. 

_I love you_ , he says in his head, when Eddie introduces him to Christopher’s teacher and ducks out of the gym to point out Chris’ classroom and his art on the walls. 

_I love you_ , he tells him silently when Eddie pulls his head out of the barrel, soaking wet with an apple in between his teeth, spitting water out dramatically into the grass while Chris giggles and exchanges it for a prize. 

_I love you_ , he mouths into Eddie’s skin that night, sinking into him, his fingers in Eddie’s hair and around his leg, tongue sliding over the bruises he’d sucked into the hollow of his throat as Eddie’s fingers press into the tattoo on his heart. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

He’s almost asleep when Eddie whispers into his ear. “Will you stay?”

“As long as you want me,” Buck says, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

There’s a long silence and he drifts, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s fingers pause from where they run up and down his arm. “You’ll leave one day,” Eddie says quietly. “There are things—when you hear them. You’ll leave.”

“I’ll stay,” he says, kissing him again. There’s an uneasy feeling in his stomach, his brain whispering that no matter what Eddie’s done, he’s done worse. “I’ll stay, Eddie, even if you never tell me.”

Eddie’s fingers resume their slow trail up and down Buck’s arm, and between one pass and the next, he falls asleep. 


	9. Week Nine

Eddie’s going to tell him.

Buck’s mentioned _Tango Uniform_ before, several times: right after Eddie saw his tattoo, when Eddie had mentioned being deployed, read him a passage late at night over the phone when Eddie had called while he was in the middle of it. He’s encouraged Eddie to read it, told him haltingly about how his life had been a mess until he’d picked it up and frustratingly refused to go into any detail except to say it changed his life.

He’d hidden the copy he keeps on his bookshelf when he saw Buck’s tattoo, terrified he’d put two and two together—Eddie had talked about Chris’ diagnosis, for god’s sake, talked about how he had wanted to leave Texas and start again, talk about how Shannon had left because she wasn’t in the right place for a family and how relieved he was when she walked out the door.

There was a small part of him that hoped Buck would put together the clues on his own, would take the statements Eddie made about his life and weave them together, but Eddie’s either been too vague or much better at hiding his feelings than he thought he was.

He says _my parents and I don’t get along_ instead of _they wanted to take my son_.

He says _I was in the Middle East_ rather than _I got discharged after my second tour because I got shot three times._

He says _I don’t like to talk about it_ instead of _I don’t have nightmares when you’re around_.

And then Sophia had said _give him a chance_ and Eddie had realized that—even if he worked up the courage to tell Buck he loved him, and Buck felt the same—it wouldn’t mean anything if he didn’t _really_ know Eddie. This version of him—the one who volunteers at his son’s school, the one who sits on the counter and tosses blueberries at Buck while he makes them pancakes for breakfast on Sunday morning, the one who holds his hand while they walk through the market and begs for Buck to make him _feel_ it in bed—that one’s a lot easier to love than who he really is.

So.

He’s going to tell him.

Except—

“Don’t be mad,” was the first thing Buck said when he got home on Monday night.

“I hate toaster pops,” Chris says, and Eddie resists the urge to correct him. “I want PopTarts.”

“This is what we have, buddy,” he says, holding the box of frozen pastries up. “Take it or leave it.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, he realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because Chris narrows his eyes behind his glasses and says, stubbornly, “leave it,” knowing perfectly well that Eddie’s not going to send him to school without breakfast. Except Eddie’s offered him everything they have in the house, and Chris is still insisting that the only thing he’ll accept is PopTarts. 

Eddie grabs a granola bar from the pantry and sets it on the table next to Chris’ backpack. “Is all your homework in your folder?”

“I want PopTarts!”

He’s going out of his mind. Buck leaves, and Chris decides three days later that it’s the perfect time to start throwing fits the likes of which he’s never seen before, not even from Adriana when she was younger. “Is your homework in your folder,” he repeats, trying to keep his voice even. It’s not Christopher’s fault that his routine has been thrown off, that Eddie’s fraying at the edges without Buck around. 

“Yes,” Chris mumbles. “Can we _please_ buy PopTarts? Buck _always_ buys PopTarts.”

“That’s because Buck eats too much junk food,” Eddie says. “If you can drop the attitude tonight, I’ll pick some up for tomorrow.”

“Dad,” Chris says, once they’re at the door of his classroom, “I just want Buck to come home.”

“I know,” Eddie says, kissing the top of his head. “I miss him, too.”

It’s pathetic, but—

 **Eddie:** Chris is on a strike against Toaster Strudels and might burn the entire town to the ground if I don’t have PopTarts for him by tomorrow morning.  
**Eddie:** The Bee Bakery’s got a new breakfast sandwich with avocados and a fried egg, I think you’d like it.  
**Eddie:** You keep asking me about what I write and the VA just posted this so if you want to read it, you can (no it’s not a romance novel).  
**Eddie:** Is it pathetic if I go to Bobby’s for lunch and then take Chris again for dinner?  
**Eddie:** Help they’re trying to get me to join the PTA again.  
**Eddie:** Chris wants to go hike Devil’s Gulch this weekend, what do you think?  
**Eddie:** Chris saw a documentary about firefighters and he wants to know if you want your last name on your costume.  
**Eddie:** I miss you, in case you haven’t been able to tell. 

His texts go unanswered, not that he expected any different.

“Moping time is over,” someone calls into the living room, and Eddie peeks around the kitchen doorway to see Karen standing in the living room, Denny by her side. “You two are coming over to dinner, let’s go.”

Eddie looks back at the pan on the stove with the overly cooked squash, the clump of noodles draining in the sink, and flips the burner off. He’d gotten a little too used to someone else doing all the cooking—not that he’d had skills to lose—and making the grocery list, so after three days of freezer meals and cans of soup, he thought a fresh vegetable probably couldn’t hurt. 

“I love you,” Chris is saying to her, blinking up at Karen adoringly as she runs a hand through his hair. “You _saved_ me.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says dryly, and Chris grins. “You talk about my food like I’m trying to poison you or something, kid.”

Chris shrugs. “It’s okay, Dad,” he says, reaching to indicate that Eddie should pick him up, something he hasn’t done in—a long while, Eddie thinks. He pats Eddie’s cheek and smiles. “You can’t be good at _everything_.”

Karen’s food is leagues above what he would have set on the table, he thinks, finishing off his third helping of casserole. “Don’t tell Bobby, but maybe you should run the cafe and he can take over the Inn,” he says, and Karen laughs.

“I appreciate it, but I think I’ll keep putting my business degree to good use and let him deal with the hordes of tourists that come through every fall,” she says, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “Denny, I know you aren’t trying to sneak off without clearing your plate,” she says, raising an eyebrow and looking over to where the boys are pushing their chairs back from the table. “No screens tonight, find something else to do.” She shakes her head as they leave and pushes her own plate back, reaching for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table. “So.”

He freezes; she sounds remarkably like Sophia. “So?”

“How are you doing without Buck?”

“Fine,” he says, letting his fork clatter onto his plate and accepting the glass she offers him. He’s not much for wine—beer in an actual glass is about as fancy as he gets—but maybe it will help ease the tension he’s been holding since Buck walked out the door on Monday night. Karen hums, doesn’t take her eyes off him. “Okay,” he says, “but I swear, I’m managing. He calls for a little bit at night.”

“Hen says the whole crew is exhausted,” Karen says, her eyes softening. “She’s got enough energy to talk for maybe ten minutes before she falls asleep.”

Eddie nods. “That’s about what I get, too,” he says. “He asked me to join, you know.”

“You thinking about it?”

He takes a drink and stands to follow her out to the living room, sinks down onto one side of the couch while she takes the other. “I think I’d like it,” he says, considering. “I was an Army medic before I moved here, it’d be nice to feel useful again. But I don’t know what I’d do with Chris, especially if I’d be gone overnight like they are now.”

“They don’t get called out all that often,” Karen says, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning towards him, one arm up along the back of the couch. “Search and Rescue is usually limited to stranded hikers when the snow hits, I think Hen gets called out two or three times each winter. This landslide thing—she hasn’t been gone for three days before. It’s unusual. But if you want to join, you should. Chris is always welcome here, we’ve got a spare room, or I can pack Denny up and stay over at your place. You’ve got people here, Eddie,” she says, and it sounds so much like what Bobby had said to him at the end of summer that he feels a lump grow in his throat. “Don’t hesitate to ask us for help.”

“If you’re sure—”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she says, cutting him off. “Besides, I’d like to know there’s another person watching out for Hen when she’s out there.”

They play games until late; Monopoly, Sorry, other board games that Eddie and Karen team up on and throw so the boys are happy and laughing, red-faced with giggles until their eyelids start to droop and Eddie carries Chris home and tucks him into his own bed for the first time in four nights. 

He brings his laptop downstairs and spends time writing—his agent was interested in another manuscript, and even though Eddie’s still surprised that anyone wanted to read the first one, he’d thrown out some ideas and she’d asked for a draft of one of them, about his adjustment to his new life and learning to love himself—it sounded stupid when he’d said it and it sounds worse now, he thinks, but he’s committed to it. Buck’s been calling around ten every night, so he sets his work aside a little before that and turns on the television, flips through the channels aimlessly until he lands on the Red Sox game and stays there, watching them score three runs to tie the game in the bottom of the ninth.

His phone stays silent.

Karen calls an hour later to report that she hasn’t heard from Hen and Athena’s phone also hasn’t rung, and he shouldn’t worry because if none of them are calling, it just means they’re out late, not that something has happened.

He’s more grateful for the reassurance than he knows how to say.

Eleven pushes closer to midnight and he turns off the television when the Sox win, puts out the fire, and locks up the house before checking on Chris and trudging upstairs. He tries Buck’s phone—one call isn’t needy, he tells himself—but it goes straight to voicemail, and he stares up at the ceiling for a long time before drifting into a restless sleep.

He wakes up to cold skin against his own, Buck’s arms wrapping around him from behind, face pressed into Eddie’s shoulder. He thinks he makes a noise, not entirely sure if it’s real, still floating on dreams, and Buck kisses the back of his neck and draws him closer.

“‘s almost four,” Buck whispers. “Sorry for waking you up, I just—I missed you, Eddie, I missed you, I was gonna go back home but I had Chim drop me here, I couldn’t wait—”

“Missed you too,” he mumbles; he tries to turn but Buck’s wrapped around him too tightly, so he just sinks back against him, shivers when he feels rough stubble scrape across his back followed by feather-light kisses. “Wanna?” He’s too tired to get the whole thing out, but Buck shakes his head anyway.

“Sleep,” Buck says. “Just wanna sleep.”

Eddie shifts, rests his arm over the one Buck’s got around his midsection and threads their fingers together. _I love you_ , he almost says. _I wrote your favorite book and I love you_ , _please let that be enough_.

He feels Buck’s face press against him again, lips moving against his skin, and falls back asleep.


	10. Week Ten

Buck can hardly stand to be away from Eddie. 

He _loved_ S&R missions, loved the excitement, the feeling he gets when he’s useful, when he can work with his friends to make better outcomes, and he thinks that before he met Eddie, four days out in the backcountry digging people out of a massive landslide would have been a dream.

Well, for him at least, not the people trapped in it.

He’d thought about Eddie the entire time. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Eddie, hadn’t stopped wishing he could see him, touch him, wishing they were together in bed or on the couch or cooking dinner together in the kitchen, and still his mind goes back to the same daydream every time he has to leave the house for class: Eddie stretched out underneath him in bed, hands in Buck’s hair while Buck whispers into his skin that he loves him.

He’s battered and bruised from the rescue, from losing his footing on unsteady ground, from unstable objects falling on him, against him, from the idiot on the winch leaving too much slack and his body being slammed against a boulder when he’d slipped on the descent. Chim had taken one look at him limping out of the shower on the last day and told him to take the week off, and there was no way Buck was going to argue, not when it meant spending nearly all his time with Eddie.

“Stop moving,” Eddie orders, and Buck sighs loudly. “I’m trying—”

“It _hurts_ ,” he bites out clenching his hands into fists. Eddie’s fingers press against him and he shifts, twisting to the side, which—

“You’re pathetic,” Eddie says, and Buck glares up at him. “The cream will help, but not if you keep trying to crawl away from me like a child.”

“Am not,” Buck mutters, and Eddie laughs. “Eddie.”

Eddie leans down and kisses him, fingers brushing over the bruise that took up residence against his ribcage, pushing down with gentle pressure that feels like a sledgehammer to his bones. “If you can lay very still,” Eddie says quietly, “and let me take care of you, I’ll suck your dick.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” Buck says. He hadn’t let Buck fuck him since he got home, which—he thinks would probably be too painful, anyway—but that hadn’t stopped him from doing anything else. 

“And then,” Eddie says, cheeks turning pink, and Buck raises his eyebrows, “I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he asks, sucking in a breath when Eddie presses against one of bruises on his chest, fingers rubbing soothingly over his heart, tracing the words of his tattoo. “You’ll what, Eddie? Ride me?” He may be able to handle that, he thinks, as long as Eddie doesn’t forget and tries to brace himself against Buck’s chest like he’s fond of doing.

“I’ll let you watch,” Eddie says, and Buck almost chokes on air.

“I’m laying very still,” he says, grinning as the corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches up. “Very, extremely still, I’m like a stat—ow!”

He practiced the words while he was gone.

_I love you_ , he whispered into the dark, thinking about Eddie walking around the harvest carnival with him, arm around his shoulder while they trailed after Christopher, Eddie threading their fingers together as they sat on a bale of hay on the field, watching the kids sing the Harvest Song in their costumes.

_I love you_ , he said into the foggy mirror, remembering running the hot water in Christopher’s new shower and watching a dinosaur appear on the mirror, Chris’ happy expression when he said “Dad always draws stuff for me”, the feeling in his chest whenever he sees how much Eddie loves his son. 

_I love you_ , he said at dinner, eating too-salty roast beef provided by one of the local homeowners, the taste of Eddie’s well-seasoned but otherwise awful chicken in his mouth. 

“I love you,” he breathed when he’d staggered in the house just after four in the morning, face pressed against Eddie’s shoulder blades, getting mud and dirt all over the bed, too tired to care about anything other than wrapping himself around Eddie and never moving.

“Didn’t Chim say to take it easy?”

“I only have three more things on the list,” Buck says, pointing at the paper on the bathroom counter with a screwdriver, balanced precariously on a chair he’d stolen from the office and shoved into the shower stall. “Although maybe we should think about retiling this room, too, do you really like this pale yellow? I don’t know what the last owners were thinking, honestly.”

Eddie opens the shower door and steps inside, fitting a hand to Buck’s hips to steady him. “I’m less concerned about that and more concerned about the bloodstains that will be impossible to get off the grout when this thing rolls out from under you and you crack your head open.”

Buck laughs, sticks the screwdriver between his teeth and yanks off the old wall-mounted showerhead, letting it fall to the floor. “E’re fin’ is fine,” he says, and rolls his eyes when Eddie snorts. He points at the new showerhead and snaps his fingers until Eddie picks it up and hands it to him. It’s all little stuff he’s left for last; this, the loose deck rail in the back, the outlet in the kitchen that he thought he’d fixed twice but is still throwing off sparks occasionally. He’s saving that one for last, reading up everything he can so he can manage it himself instead of calling an actual electrician.

“How does this work?” Eddie asks, turning the box over in his hands, and Buck laughs as he pulls the screwdriver out of his mouth.

“Well,” he says, “you get naked, let your boyfriend fuck you, then you come in here and turn on the water. The fucking part is key, won’t work if you forget it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, and he hits him in the thigh with the box.

“I liked all your texts,” he says, stealing a fry from Eddie’s try and popping it in his mouth. “Sorry I couldn’t write back, we left our phones at the house we were staying in during the day, there wasn’t service anyway and Bobby can be a pain about distractions.”

“Good, I didn’t want to distract you,” Eddie says, reaching out. Buck pushes the paper boat full of onion rings towards him and watches as Eddie takes a small one, so he picks up a bigger one and sets it on top of his half-eaten burger. “I just—”

Buck gives him a minute before he says, “Just?”

“Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

“You’re very cute when you blush,” Buck says, picking up his milkshake and taking a sip before setting it down on Eddie’s tray and reaching for the other cup; they’d gotten switched, somehow. 

“Buck,” Eddie says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling, the small, pleased look he gets when he claims Buck is being embarrassing. 

“We stayed at this lady’s house and she spent the whole first night trying to set me and Chim up with her granddaughters,” Buck says, “until I showed her a picture of you, and she said you were adorable.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “I’m never taking you out on a date again.”

“Liar,” Buck says, reaching for another fry. “Hey, Eddie.” He waits until Eddie looks up at him before he moves his hand and grabs Eddie’s, salty fingers rubbing against Eddie’s. “I was thinking about you, too,” he says. “Let’s go to the hardware store before we pick Chris up from school, I need to get some new wiring for that outlet.”

“And then Jackson told Savannah that if she wasn’t allowed to watch scary movies that she was a big baby and he can’t be friends with big babies.”

Buck looks over his shoulder at Chris; he’s supposed to be doing his homework, but he hasn’t stopped chattering since he sat down, and his math worksheet is still less than halfway done thirty minutes later. Eddie’s already warned him once that he’d send Buck home, a threat so ridiculous that Chris had merely raised his eyebrows but gotten back to work, only to abandon it again once it was clear Eddie wasn’t paying any attention.

“What’d you say to Jackson?” he asks.

“I didn’t say anything,” Chris says. “I’m not allowed to watch scary movies, either, but I don’t want him to think I’m a big baby. I wouldn’t be scared, it’s just Dad’s rule.”

Buck snorts. “Do you think Savannah would have appreciated someone sticking up for her?”

“She’s a _girl_ ,” Chris says, like that explains everything, and Buck laughs as he fits the plate back over the outlet and screws it in.

“Eddie,” he says, tossing the screwdriver into the bag at his feet, “I’m done. What did you want me to make for dinner?”

Eddie doesn’t respond, and Buck turns around, leans on the counter and raises an eyebrow. “Eddie?”

Eddie blinks out of whatever zone he’s in and looks up. “Sorry, what?”

“I was saying, I think I’m done,” he says, laughing gently. He opens his mouth to ask about dinner again, but Eddie’s staring at him, brow furrowed, mouth tight, and Buck—he isn’t exactly sure what’s going on. 

Eddie blinks again, looks over at Chris and taps his worksheet. “You alright here for a second, Chris? There’s something I wanna show Buck.”

"I love you," he whispers that night, pressing kisses into every inch of Eddie's skin. "I love you, I love you, I _love_ you."

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far--I always accept other two-or-more word prompts that may turn into something crazy on [tumblr](http://hearteyesforbuck.tumblr.com).


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